A Question Of Time
by LilyOfShalott
Summary: Trapped in the past after an accident in the Department of Mysteries, and with rescue nowhere in sight, Hermione tries to forge a life for herself not knowing if – or when – she'll be able to return home. But as she lives alongside those she knows in the future, she finds herself slowly forgetting her past and, with that, her reason to go back.
1. The Body By The Lake

A Question Of Time

Chapter One:

The Body By The Lake

 _30th June, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

It was the pain that roused her, coursing through her body like poison. It seeped into her mind, clouding her thoughts as she tried to make sense of why she was feeling so horrid. She couldn't remember...

She opened her eyes, blinking quickly as she squinted at... _Hogwarts? The Great Lake?_

 _I'm dreaming, surely..._

All she knew was that everywhere ached. Her skin felt raw, her head was throbbing as if she'd hit it repeatedly on a rock, and as she tried to draw breath, she realised she was unable to breathe. She felt someone's hands on her, trying to turn her quickly; they were shaking slightly, as if whoever owned them was scared. As soon as she was on her side, she realised why the helpful stranger was rolling her, and why she was unable to inhale properly – she promptly coughed up a lungful of lake water onto the rocks she was lying on. White spots danced around her vision as her lungs burned, searing with the effort to maintain enough air to remain conscious. It was like the Cruciatus curse aftershocks all over again.

After drawing in an agonising, shuddering breath, she next focused on the the pain in her forehead. Tentatively, she propped herself up on her elbow, ignoring the sharp rocks piercing through her waterlogged robes, and brought up her hand to assess the damage. Pain sliced through both her hairline and her arm at her touch, and she whimpered as she saw her wrist hanging limply, followed by the blood covering her fingertips. Almost at once, her arms started shaking as anxiety threatened to overwhelm her.

Movement sounded from behind her; the squelching of damp pebbles and something – someone – shuffling over them. "Sssh, it's ok. You're injured, but I – I've sent for help," a nervous voice explained as firm hands eased her onto her back.

Hermione was too exhausted to argue and did as she was told, squeezing her eyes shut against the midday sun. She felt tears slip down her cheeks as more pain registered on her body; her legs were on fire, and her old back injuries seemed to have been reignited. She grunted with the effort to keep herself from sobbing, face twisting in agony. Her right wrist was most certainly broken, and if the blood was anything to go by, she had a head wound. She tried to focus on the nice chill of the water swirling around her lower legs; it was soothing against whatever was burning her skin there.

"I'm no Healer," the voice – a woman's, she registered – said, stronger this time, "But the Deputy Headmaster is coming with out with the Matron, I promise you. Just try to breathe." The woman started loosening the front clasps of Hermione's soaked robes to alleviate pressure on her chest, while she continued, "You're at Hogwarts, nothing can hurt you now." The faintest hint of a Scottish accent accompanied the words, which made Hermione's pain-addled mind take a while longer to comprehend what was said to her. She felt a damp cloth wiping where her head was most painful, and cool fingers sliding under her jaw to keep track of her pulse.

 _That voice is familiar_ , she mused groggily, the pain in her head threatening to slip her back into unconsciousness. Fighting her hazing vision, Hermione opened her eyes once more, this time to look at the woman tending to her injuries. She was hard to see at first, what with the sun blazing behind her like a halo and long black hair draped over one pale shoulder, but the piercing emerald green eyes – enhanced by dark make-up, unusually – were unmistakable. Her own eyes widened, and jaw slackened at the recognition.

"Oh...God," Hermione choked out in horror, lungs straining with the effort after her coughing fit. Her throat felt on fire. " _Minerva?_ " The shock almost made her heave. _She's young. Far too young. What the fuck has happened?!_ Hermione thought desperately, realising that, to her absolute terror, she shouldn't be wondering _where_ she was, but rather, _when._ "Oh, _shit_."

Minerva McGonagall raised an arched eyebrow as she leaned back on her heels. "You know me?" she asked slowly, wringing out the bloodied wash-cloth in the water surrounding them both.

Hermione barely heard her as the implications swam before her eyes. She made to sit up, putting her weight on her left arm, and look past the younger version of the current Headmistress of Hogwarts to the rest of the shoreline of the lake. Her heart skipped several beats at the empty patch of grass where the Whomping Willow was meant to be, at the different design of the old boathouse, and the pristine jetty that had long been declared unsafe to students by the time she had attended the school.

A chill ran through her, and she felt herself falling back, lying on the pebbly shore in the slowly rising water. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit, _shit!_ "

She squeezed her eyes shut and brought her left hand to cover her face, clutching at the side of her head desperately as a whirlwind of possibilities – all just as unlikely and problematic as the next – plagued her mind as to an explanation of her current situation. With her breathing becoming erratic once more, and pain becoming unbearable, she relinquished control of herself to unconsciousness, floating away with the hope that this was all a terrible, _terrible_ nightmare she would never have to face again.

* * *

The bed was rather uncomfortable; the sheets were pulled too tight around her, and the pillows were much too thin. The angle she was lying on made her throat ache. _At least my headache's gone_ , she thought, before she found herself confused as to why she would have had a headache in the first place. She couldn't think clearly; to hold a thought felt akin to wading through a rip tide in the ocean.

As she became more aware of her surroundings, she smelt essence of dittany and burn salve, and she realised her body felt sore, heavy and immobile. She tried making a fist, but stopped when pain seared through her arm. She had vague recollections of seeing it broken...when? Today? Yesterday? _Gods, there must have been an accident at work_ , she thought, forcing her eyes open. The light made her squint, but as she looked around, she saw she was in an old-fashioned hospital bed with curtains drawn around it. "Ah, shit," she muttered, seeing the bandages on her arms and burn salve on her chest. Accident at work indeed. She tried to remember what they were currently studying, but her memory failed her.

Realising how dry her throat was, she reached over to the bedside table for the glass of water the Healers must have left for her. She drank it quickly, savouring the soothing feeling as it slipped down her throat. Her fatigue improved slightly, much to her relief, and she decided to try and get out of the bed. Looking around, she realised she _wasn't_ in St. Mungo's and she was anxious to get her bearings. The bed and bedlinen didn't match what the Wizarding Hospital used, nor did the curtains, and the walls were completely wrong. Just as she'd swung one leg over the bed, however, she heard a door crash open, followed by footsteps and voices. She quickly got back into bed and strained to hear what was being said out on what she assumed to be the ward.

"Evidence of torture?" someone hissed. "You're sure? Merlin, she's around my age, that's-"

"Horrible, yes. But they're old injuries," someone else – an older woman, Hermione guessed, by the sound of the voice – assured the first speaker. "The main concern, Professor's, apart from the fact she looks as though she's been in a violent explosion, is the head injury. It'll cause some sort of amnesia, so I'd be hesitant in your questioning."

"I promise, Matron, I merely want to ask her a few trivial things, at first." A third voice was added into the mix. It was cool, and calm and...familiar. Hermione frowned, but before she could dwell, he continued on. "Could you send Miss Doe's personal effects to my office?"

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," the woman said, and Hermione heard her footsteps up the length of the ward.

 _Did she say 'Dumbledore'?_ Hermione wasn't sure it was possible to mishear a name like that. Before she had a chance to ponder it, 'Dumbledore' spoke again.

"This is the sand, Minerva? Are you sure?"

"Yes, it was surrounding her, all over her robes. She said my _name_ , Albus, and I've never seen her before in my life. Whoever Jane Doe is, I'm willing to bet she's not from _here_ , if you get my drift."

Hermione found her jaw dropping of it's own accord at the familiar voices from just beyond the curtain. Albus and Minerva. Merlin, where on God's green earth was she? She tried to keep her breathing in check and slowly and deliberately tried to stretch her back, focusing on anything to keep her mind from going haywire. Her head was already starting to get a dull ache once more.

"But that does not mean," Minerva continued warningly, and Hermione noticed her voice was higher, and less haggard than she'd heard it...well, ever, "That she can be trusted. Keep your wits about you, old man. You've still got many enemies from defeating Gellert, who knows what lengths his fanatics would go to to get revenge."

Albus chuckled, and Hermione could just imagine his eyes twinkling. "Why Minerva, it seems the first years were wrong – you _do_ have a heart after all," he teased her lightly. A pointed silence fell, and if Hermione knew Minerva, the formidable woman would probably be glaring at him right now. "I thank you for your concern, my dear," he said patiently – _yes, he just got glared at_ , she thought, the ghost of a smile on her lips _–_ "But I assure you, I will be perfectly fine. Why don't you go down to the kitchens and get a plate of food for Miss Doe?"

A sharp exhale sounded. "Of course, Albus," Minerva said, and the _clack_ of high heels sounded on the floor, retreating in the opposite direction of the Matron's.

"And Minerva?" Albus called.

"Yes?"

"For once, I'm glad of your smoking habit. If you hadn't been by the lake for your morning cigarette, I doubt she would be alive right now." Hermione could hear the sincerity and gratefulness in his voice. Merlin, how she missed it. For all his wrongs, Albus Dumbledore's voice could be one of the most soothing sounds in the world.

"Why thank you, Albus. I know how hard it is to admit you were wrong," Minerva said, and Hermione could just imagine the smirk on her face as Albus chortled.

 _This is a dream, surely. How can this be real? He's dead._

A shadow grew from behind the curtains, and Hermione realised that the time for eavesdropping was over. For all she overheard, she was no closer to coming up with a plausible explanation as to what was going on. She couldn't remember a thing. She guessed she was at Hogwarts, however with Albus Dumbledore mixed into the equation, it simply didn't make sense.

Breath hitching as the curtains opened, her eyes widened as she drank in the very real, and very alive form of Albus Dumbledore. His eccentric robe choice was the same as ever; purple, with gold trim, was the current ensemble, although he looked...odd. Different. His hair and beard were neither grey, nor exceedingly long. Hermione had only ever seen him this young in the photograph's of Rita Skeeter's awful, yet sadly truthful, book about him.

"Ah, our mystery guest is awake," he said brightly. "How are you feeling? You had some nasty injuries, dear girl." He conjured an armchair and sat next to the bed, surveying her over his half-moon spectacles.

Hermione gaped for a moment, wanting to confirm his identity before saying anything. "Albus Dumbledore?" she queried tentatively, quite sure she looked rather ridiculous.

Albus lifted up his chin slightly and leaned back in his chair. "Ah yes, I had a feeling you might know me," he said softly, taking off his spectacles. "A different version? Older, perhaps?"

"Perhaps..." she said warily. To say she was unnerved was an understatement, and Merlin, did her head start aching the more she thought about how _wrong_ this all was. As she blinked, she had a flash of memory, of a boathouse, a missing tree, and a jetty... _Minerva._

 _Young_ _Minerva._

 _Young Albus?_

 _Merlin's fucking pantaloons._

A cough startled her out of her thoughts. "Back to my original question, Miss Doe. How are you feeling?"

Hermione sighed. "Not all that well, Al- Sir," she corrected herself, but Albus waved her off. "Oh, by all means, call me how you usually do," he said kindly. "Unless you've picked up Minerva McGonagall's habits for truly awful nicknames. 'Gandalf' is the current one, I believe – I so regret buying her those books for Christmas," he added, with a shake of his head and a chuckle. "I have a few more questions for you, if I may?" At her slow nod, he asked, "What day of the week is it?"

"Friday," she answered.

"And the date?"

"29th of June."

Albus hummed, looking at her curiously. He cocked his head to the side, and Hermione could see a hint of concern betraying his usually calm features. "Amnesia is to be expected, after a head injury like yours," he mused. "It is, in fact, the _30th_ of June. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I just remembered – the lake..." she said slowly.

"Before that, my dear," he nudged.

Hermione frowned as images swirled in her mind, disjointed, but enough to make her remember. "Dinner, last night. Indian take-away. Work finished late, around 10pm," she said eventually, although the pounding in her head grew. She made a move to pour another glass of water, but with her wrist in a sling, she realised it would end in disaster. Instead, she grabbed the glass and, after not seeing her wand anywhere, performed a wandless _aguamenti_ charm above the goblet. She smiled, pleased the bone break hadn't affected her magical ability in the slightest, although is was more painful than she expected.

"Impressive," Albus commended. When she looked at him, after taking a drink, she saw he was genuine in his compliment; his eyes were sparkling. They truly were the windows to his soul. "What is your job, if you don't mind me asking?"

She gave a small smile – her job was her life; her obsession. With a hint of pride in her voice, she said, "Curse-breaker and Magic Analyst, Department of Mysteries. That's all I'm allowed to say."

He nodded. "And finally, given the fact you were surrounded by the Sands of Time by the Lake – what year are you from?" His voice was sharper, much more direct than what it had been mere moments ago.

Wanting just one more moment of blissful ignorance, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled, eyes burning as she realised the inevitable ending of this conversation. She felt her heart shattering as she said, "2001." After taking a deep breath and blinking away the tears threatening to well in her eyes, she asked, "And what year is this?"

With a regretful sigh, Albus answered. "1957, my dear. I am so very sorry..."

* * *

 _30th June, 2001_

 _Daily Prophet HQ_

 _ **ACCIDENT IN THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES:**_

 _ **5 INJURED, HERMIONE GRANGER MISSING**_

 _At approximately 11.57am today, June 30th, 2001, a tragic accident in the lower levels of the Department of Mysteries took place, rendering 5 as yet unnamed Unspeakables in St. Mungo's, while celebrated war hero Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin 1st Class, has yet to be located in the remains of a destroyed laboratory. While normally, this sort of accident is kept from the public, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt has issued a statement to assure the public he is doing all he can to find Ms. Granger, noting that the disappearance of a war-hero, sadly, does not go unnoticed._

" _It is my sad duty to report that the rumours are, in fact, true – a volatile object we recently confiscated has caused a large amount of damage, the details of which will not be made available to the public. I can promise you we are going all we can to recover Agent Granger. We will not rest until we find her, or discover what has happened to her. I urge you all to not spread rumours, or uneducated theories. The work our dedicated Unspeakables do here is highly confidential, extremely dangerous and not something up for public discussion. All further articles about this incident will be pulled from_ all _Wizarding publications due to this fact, unless I have_ personally _authorised them. That is all."_

 _We here at the_ Daily Prophet _wish the best of luck to the forthcoming investigation, and will be abiding by the Minister's wishes to respect the privacy of this tragic event. We sincerely regret publishing Rita Skeeter's speculative column in the Afternoon Bulletin earlier in the day, and refute the suggestion she made that this accident was the direct result of a workplace love rivalry._

 _Mr. Harry Potter, friend of Ms. Granger, has requested privacy for Ms. Granger's friends and family during this difficult time. He is hopeful that she will be found safe and alive, and also wishes the Unspeakables in St. Mungo's a quick recovery._

Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a grim smile as looked over the proposed cover page of the _Evening Prophet._ Short, succinct, and to the point – he was sure even Hermione herself would approve. Worry constricted at his chest once more at the thought of her; a dear friend, who had gone through so much...suddenly gone. She needed to be found.

Shaking himself from him thoughts, he gave a nod to Barnabus Cuffe, Editor-In-Chief of the _Prophet_. "Print it. And get advance copies to myself, the Weasley's and Harry Potter. And Headmistress McGonagall," he added as an afterthought. "She deserves a bit of warning that the rumour mill at Hogwarts will be going crazy in a few hours."


	2. A Name To Use

Chapter 2:

A Name To Use

 _30th June, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

 _With a regretful sigh, Albus answered. "1957, my dear. I am so very sorry..."_

His voice faded into the back of her mind as her head swam. She was in 1957. She quickly did the maths – 1957 was 44 years ago. Merlin, her mother was a toddler! Her father was in prep! She was vaguely aware of movement happening around her bed, but she was too lost in the abyss of her mind to care. Her breathing became laboured, but she ignored the pain it was causing her ribs. _How could this happen_? Time-Turners no longer existed in the new millennium, as far as she was aware. And travelling back in time more than 5 days was illegal. How the hell did she end up so far away from the present? "Oh, Gods," she breathed, realising her vision was going blurry.

Before she could protest, she realised someone was tipping a potion down her throat, although she couldn't understand what they were saying; her ears felt as if they had hot cotton wool stuffed in them. It took several minutes for her to calm down enough to face Albus's gaze again. They had been joined by who she guessed was the school nurse, an older woman with silver hair, dressed in the same uniform Madam Pomfrey usually wore.

"Feel better, pet?" the Matron asked from the end of the bed, pouring a glass of water for her patient. "I've given you a calming draught. Professor Dumbledore-" she glared at the man, who was no longer sitting, but pacing the bedside, "-has been informed that he's no longer allowed to question you without supervision."

"It's ok, Matron," Hermione said weakly, accepting the drink. "Albus, how did – uh – _this –_ happen?" She wasn't sure she wanted the Matron knowing just what had transpired in the past fifteen minutes and hoped Albus understood her meaning.

The wizard sighed, removing his glasses and running his hand through his auburn hair. "I think only you will know the answer to that, once your amnesia clears." He paused, before asking, "Would you come across any objects that could cause this in your line of work?"

Hermione frowned as she considered the question. While it wasn't likely, she supposed it _was_ possible for something like that to come across their laboratory; disguised as something else, even. Sand could be easily hidden, and Sands of Time was certainly something to keep locked away. Truthfully, the things she found concealed in Dark or cursed objects no longer surprised her. Only she couldn't remember what the latest cases were, and the more she tried to draw on the memories, the more her head felt like it was going to split open. Angry with herself, she drank her water, getting rid of the bitter taste of potion. "You know, Albus, there is a possibility that that could happen," she sighed, chewing on her bottom lip.

She thought back to the many books on time travel she had read in her third year after Professor McGonagall had gifted her with a Time-Turner. Time travel was still being experimented with in the 1950's, however her history books had shown that most experiments hadn't been successful, and the ones that were, were only for short term travel. Not the 44 odd years she'd need to get back home. The thought settled like lead in her stomach. She felt ill as she saw her chances of going home diminish before her eyes.

"So what the hell do I do now?" she asked, teary eyed as the gravity of the situation threatened to catch up with her once more. Luckily, the calming draught seemed to be keeping her heart rate stable, and she focused on listening to Albus, doing all she could to drown out distractions.

"Now?" He hummed, pacing as he thought. "Recover from your injuries, first and foremost. I'll alert the Ministry that we have a young lady missing in Time. You'll go in for questioning at some point, and then...well, we will go from there. Ah!" He smiled as the door creaked open, and Hermione heard the sound of high heels echoing from the stone floor. "Minerva, delighted you could join us."

Hermione couldn't help but stare at the younger version of Minerva McGonagall as she appeared from behind the curtain. Elegant, even while carrying a tray of food, she wore a simple, black muggle dress that showed of her toned arms and pale skin, her hair was now pulled back into a loose bun, and her eyes were still accentuated with a slick of dark liner, as they had been by the lake. She'd heard that Minerva had been quite pretty in her youth, but looking at the young woman before her, Hermione realised that that was most certainly an understatement.

With a slightly tense smile on her red painted lips, Minerva placed the tray of food across Hermione's legs. "Glad you're awake, Miss Doe," she said, not unkindly, but Hermione knew that tone of voice far too well. Minerva was on her guard. "You gave me quite the scare," she added briskly, before retreating to the foot of the bed to stand next to Albus.

"I dare say I would have," Hermione said, sitting up straighter.

Albus chuckled. "Never a dull day in Hogwarts, ladies," he said, and Hermione really had to agree with him. "Now, Matron, if we could go over Jane Doe's file in your office? And Minerva, if you could keep Jane company while she eats-?" Minerva nodded – "Jane-" he focused his blue eyes on Hermione, "get some rest after your meal. We can converse more tomorrow, I assure you," he promised as she opened her mouth to protest. She conceded and leaned back as he and the Matron disappeared out into the ward.

Minerva took a seat in Albus's recently vacated chair, crossing her long legs and leaning back, looking at Hermione curiously, as if she were a puzzle just waiting to be solved. She'd had that expression directed at her by the venerable woman twice before, but to see it on someone her own age was slightly unnerving. Deciding not to over-think, Hermione busied herself with eating the meal the elves had prepared for her – steaming hot French onion soup with fresh bread. She didn't realise how hungry she was until the aroma hit her nostrils and she dove in, surprised to find the soup tasted exactly the same as in her own time.

"So I take it you know me." Her voice was softer now, but still wary. At Hermione's questioning gaze, she specified, "A _future_ version, if my theory is correct, yes?"

After another spoonful of soup, Hermione chose her words carefully before answering. "You're correct. We're friends, yes. Good friends. We're, ah, meant to be having dinner next week, actually," she added quietly, realising sadly that she most likely wouldn't make that particular meet up now. Hoping to forge some sort of connection with young Minerva, she continued, "Every new issue of _Transfiguration Today_ usually means dinner, far too much wine and hours of discussion between us."

At this, Minerva actually gave a sniff of laughter. "Good to know my love of Transfiguration and alcohol continues on, then," she said wryly. "You're going to have to give us a name to call you, by the way. You can't be Jane Doe forever."

Hermione froze as she realised she hadn't actually introduced herself, she had been much too busy trying to comprehend the fact she was stuck in the 1950's. She debated with herself over whether to give her real name, or a false one. Given how important her role was in the future, she decided a pseudonym would be much safer. Unlike in 2001, Voldemort was actually alive in 1957. A trace of Hermione Granger in the past could be disastrous for her younger self. "Jean," she said after a while, choosing her middle name. "Jean Gray."

"Well then, Jean Gray, it's a pleasure to meet you," Minerva smiled.

"And it's...very bizarre...to meet you, but a pleasure all the same." Hermione laughed with the realisation of the absurdity of the situation. "Where are the students?" she asked, only just noticing how unnaturally quiet Hogwarts was.

"Home," Minerva said simply. "The summer holidays started two days ago. There's just a few of us Professors here at the moment."

 _Well, that explains it_ , Hermione thought as she finished her soup. As soon as her spoon was in the empty bowl, Minerva leaned over and banished the tray to the kitchens with a tap of her wand. "Get some sleep, Jean Gray. You have a lot of healing to do," the Professor said, standing up and smoothing over her dress.

Obediently, Hermione lay back down, fatigue seeping into her. As she heard Minerva leave, she propped herself up on her elbow. The conversation she had listened in on earlier had replayed in her mind, and she was reminded just how serious her condition had been on arrival. "Hey," she said, causing the woman to turn back around, eyebrows raised. "I um...overheard Albus earlier, saying I'd be dead if you hadn't been there. So thank you. Thank you for saving my life."

Just like the Minerva of the future, her younger counterpart stiffened at the gratitude, but quickly recovered herself. "You're welcome," she said tensely. "Sleep well, Jean."

* * *

 _1st July, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

Sleep was a refuge. With the variety of potions she'd been administered, Hermione's rest was dreamless and healing as her body worked to repair itself. The Skele-Grow mended the bone fractures she'd sustained, while the burns and bruises slowly cleared up with the help of balms and salves that the Matron applied to her legs and arms.

She didn't want to wake up. Waking up would mean that yesterday had actually happened, that something had somehow gone terribly wrong and she was thrown back in time by _decades_. If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend she was home in her flat and her headache was because she'd had far too much to drink the night before.

Alas, with the bandage on her head beginning to make her battered skin itch, she pushed her pathetic hopes from her mind and opened her eyes, blinking in the morning sunlight. She was still at Hogwarts. Still covered in bandages and salve, still wearing a hospital gown with the school crest embroidered on it. _Hello, 1957_ , she thought dejectedly. Just as she sat up, the Matron could be heard heading down the ward.

"Ah, you're up. Excellent," she said, bustling over with several potion bottles floating behind her, along with a tray of food. "Take these-" she handed the first potion over, "-then you can have some breakfast. How are you feeling, Miss Gray?"

 _Gray. You're Jean Gray_ , Hermione reminded herself, after being confused momentarily by the name the Matron used. "Headache. Bit sore everywhere. But better than yesterday," she answered, before drinking the first potion. She grimaced at the foul taste, recognising it as diluted Skele-Grow.

"And this," the Matron said, handing over another bottle. Once that was down, she handed over the final one - "Pain relief, which I'm sure you'll be needing plenty of over the next day or so. Any memory of whatever accident you were in?"

Hermione frowned, thinking as hard as she could. Still, there was nothing there. "No, unfortunately. Just leaving work a few days ago."

The Matron hummed, checking over Hermione's various injuries. She had several burns on her legs and arms, along with grazes and scratches littering her face, chest and hands. Her wrist, while no where near as painful as it was yesterday, still had a ways to go before the bone was completely mended. "Another day of bed rest for you, I think. Minimal magic, but it would be good for you to walk around a bit. Eat your breakfast, then we'll get you showered and dressed and you can talk to Professor Dumbledore." With that, she set the breakfast tray across Hermione's legs and walked back to the end of the ward.

Eager to get the taste of potions out of her mouth, Hermione took a welcome drink of pumpkin juice before tucking into the creamy apple porridge the elves had prepared. It tasted like heaven.

Hermione had just finished drying her hair when Minerva appeared at the foot of the bed, bearing several magazines and the _Daily Prophet_. "Thought you'd probably be stir crazy by now, so I bought you some things to read. You should at least know what sort of world you've ended up in," she said, her tone crisp. "And I'm to walk you to Albus's office, if you're feeling up to it," she added, placing the reading materials on the bedside table.

Taken aback by the thoughtfulness, Hermione smiled at her. "Thank you. We can go now, just let me tell Matron-"

"Let me, I'll be quicker," Minerva suggested as Hermione struggled to her feet. "I'll meet you at the doors."

Realising she was right, Hermione slowly ambled her way to the entry way, legs stiff and painful from whatever had happened to her. And her back – Merlin, it hadn't felt this bad in years. She made a mental note to ask to brew her own pain relief potion, one she had invented herself, specifically designed for chronic pain caused by exposure to the Cruciatus curse. It had been the potion that got her her Mastery a year after she'd finished Hogwarts. She smiled at the memory of accepting that piece of parchment she had worked so hard for, seeing Harry and Ron in the crowd, surprised by both Minerva and Kingsley – the two most prominent members of Wizarding society – attending to support her. She briefly wondered when she'd next see them again, before pushing the thought from her mind. No point in being morose.

The sound of heels on stone coming from behind her announced Minerva's return. The Transfiguration Professor gave a brief smile before leading the way down the halls, offering an arm for Hermione to lean on when she saw 'Jean' struggling.

Considering her love of agility and fitness, hobbling along at such a slow pace made Hermione's thoughts darken. She wished she knew what had caused this much damage to her person. She remembered hearing the word 'explosion' yesterday when the Matron was discussing her injuries and had to agree that that seemed like an apt conclusion. Burns and shrapnel damage was what currently littered her skin, although most was hidden in the long hospital dress she was wearing. She briefly wondered where her clothes were, and the rest of her possessions – she'd yet to see her wand, however magic had been the last thing on her mind. .

Finally, after walking down to the end of the transfiguration corridor, Minerva came to a stop and knocked on the last door. "Albus?"

At the sound of Albus's voice telling them to come in, Minerva pushed open the heavy door, standing aside to let Hermione pass. Hermione's eyes widened as she stepped into Albus's office. Just like when he was – _would be? –_ the Headmaster, the room was filled with an assortment of strange and unique objects, along with what looked like hundreds of books of varying ages. She couldn't help but appreciate the beauty in some of the spines on display; some of these books had to at least be from the 14th century. "Minerva, my dear, if you could wait out side? And Jean, please take a seat," Albus said, gesturing at the armchair in front of his desk.

Hermione saw Minerva raise an eyebrow at the request, but both obliged; Minerva closing the door behind her after offering a small smile to Hermione.

"I have alerted the Ministry to your situation, Jean," Albus said, fixing his gaze upon her, eyes wandering over the various grazes on her face as she sat down. "They have requested you come in tomorrow morning, along with myself and Minerva to give statements. I have to ask; to your knowledge, is it likely they will find a way of sending you home from this end?"

Hermione averted her gaze as she thought back to build upon the memories she had brought up yesterday of her learnings in her third year. Albus let her think, chewing on a lemon drop absent-mindedly. Eventually, Hermione answered, "Honestly, no. And if it was possible, it wouldn't be through the British Ministry. The French and Swedish wizarding communities are a bit further ahead in time travel research at this point in history, but a 44 year jump _forwards_ is unheard of. Even if it was possible, there is no way of knowing if it's actually _survivable_."

Albus's eyebrows raised slightly. "You seem well versed in this," he commented approvingly. "Quite studious, I take it?"

"Very," Hermione said quickly. "Minerva – um, Professor McGonagall gave me a time-turner in my third year so that I could take every class Hogwarts had to offer. Naturally, along with my course work, I simply _had_ read up on everything I could on the history of time travel," she explained with a wry smile. Luckily, she no longer blushed when she recounted her obsessive habits of her school days. Those obsessive habits had lead to her two masteries and job at the Department of Mysteries by the time she was 21.

Albus looked suitably impressed. "Every class? Really, Miss Gray, that is … that is dedication, my dear," he chuckled, almost in disbelief.

With Albus lost in thought for a moment, Hermione decided to ask a few of her own questions. "Albus? If I may. I was wondering if I would be able to brew a potion or two at some point soon? As my scans might have shown, I have old injuries and I take a specific type of pain relieving potion for them," she said, crossing her fingers he would agree. If her history was correct, Horace Slughorn was the Potions Master at Hogwarts at the moment, and she was absolutely positive he would have all the ingredients in his stores.

The Professor considered for a moment. "You know the recipe?" he asked. At Hermione's nod, he agreed. "Very well, I will see what we have left in the store cupboard. Your scan results were... well, disturbing. I dread to think-"

"Sir, please don't ask," she said hurriedly, partly because it was difficult to talk about, partly because she knew Albus's tendency to meddle and get information out of people. Until she knew where she stood, and whether he trusted her or not, she was unwilling to mention anything to do with the Wizarding Wars. "I was also wondering," she continued, "where my wand is? I had an ID rune pendant, as well, and-"

"Ah, yes, your personal effects, I have them here," he said, bending down and pulling a large paper bag from under his desk. He then looked at her, a worrying expression clouding his features. "Your wand, I'm very sorry to say, was unfortunately broken upon impact yesterday..." he reached in and pulled out two halves of her beautiful vine wand, it's tip splintered, held together by a sliver of dragon heartstring.

"Oh Gods," she breathed, reaching for them with trembling hands. Her wand, her wonderful, perfect wand, was in pieces. She doubted even she would be strong enough to repair it wandlessly; she recalled how Harry's had simply re-broken when she repaired it after the incident in Godric's Hollow. Still, she had to try. Her wand deserved a chance. It had fought in war; cracking on rocks seemed like an indignity. She took a shaky breath and, after placing the halves on the desk, held her hand over them. " _Reparo_ ," she tried. While the pieces reconnected, there was still a gap in the wood. Her heart sank.

Albus sighed sadly, taking her small hands in his. "I'm sorry, Jean, it wont work. After we've been to the Ministry, we can go to Diagon Alley and get you a new one. A witch without her wand is a tragedy indeed."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Albus, you may not have noticed, but I don't have any money. I – wait." She stopped, and narrowed her eyes at him. Harry _had_ fixed his wand. And Grindelwald had been defeated by Albus over a decade ago, which meant...

" _You_ ," she said forcefully, a relieved smile on her face. "You _can_ fix my wand."

* * *

 _30th June, 2001_

 _Ministry of Magic_

It had been waiting for him on his desk. It was so rare these days for the Time Department to even acknowledge their own existence, yet they had just sent Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt a Time-Locked letter. He was almost afraid to open it – it was still smoking from the unLocking moments ago. _Of all the days_ , he thought, shaking his head. He had more than enough on his plate.

After fixing himself a glass of scotch, he sat at his desk and slid open the envelope. As he extracted the letter and began to read, his eyes grew wider, and his face paler.

 _ATTN: MINISTER FOR MAGIC IN THE YEAR 2001._

 _RE: Hermione Granger, a.k.a. Jean Gray – OUT OF TIME._

 _Appeared: June 30th, 1957, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry due to an accident in the Department of Mysteries on June 30th, 2001. Confirmed reports of Sands of Time being found at Hogwarts landing site._

 _Returned: April 7th, 1967, from the Ministry of Magic. Return trip organised from the future. Recovery team gave no indication of where/when specifically they were from. Ms. Gray recognised the team leader and left willingly._

 _Signed,_

 _Yelena Artlock, Time Department_

 _British M. O. M._

 _1967_

 _Additional information: Jean's next-of-kin will be in touch momentarily._

Kingsley gulped. _Jean Gray...great Circe._

He _knew_ that name. He knew _her._

He'd even lain a wreath at her memorial service.

* * *

A/N: Ahh, thank you for the lovely reviews so far! And thanks to those who have followed/favourited – I do hope you enjoyed this second chapter. Please let me know what you think, I love hearing your thoughts. As you can see, Hermione is in the past for 10 years, so trust me, there's a lot more of this story to come.

 _Just gotta set the foundation chapters first..._

-Lily xo


	3. Cigarettes and Shadows

Chapter 3:

Cigarettes and Shadows

 _1st July, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

"You _," she said forcefully, a relieved smile on her face. "You_ can _fix my wand."_

With a shake of his head, Albus disagreed. "No, Jean, it's not poss-"

" _Impertura_ ," Hermione said quickly, throwing her hand in the direction of the door as she cast an imperturbable charm. She didn't know if Albus was open about the fact he owned the Death Stick or not, given the lengths he had been forced to go to to acquire it. "You _can_. The _Elder Wand_ can. I've seen it done. It repaired my best friend's wand flawlessly."

To say Albus was shocked was an understatement. A dark shadow passed over his face as soon as Hermione had mentioned his wand. He looked frozen, and he was looking at her with a mixture of worry, concern and, if possible, the slightest hint of anger. _Oh shit._

"How do you kno-?"

" _Future_ , Albus, I'm from the _future_ ," she said quickly. "I know a lot of things. Please, can you fix my wand." It wasn't a question. The fire in her hazel eyes was demanding, but after contemplating for a minute, he stood up.

"I thank you for silencing the room, Jean," he said, after a while. "Owning this particular piece of history is not a fact I advertise. Am I to understand you know my past?"

Staring straight into his blue eyes, she nodded slowly. "I do. You have many secrets, Albus. They are not mine to share," she added gently, hoping to convey that she meant no ill will.

He hummed darkly, jaw clenched. A moment later, however, he brightened once more and withdraw his wand from his robes, then walked around to the front of his desk. " _Reparo_ ," he said, pointing his wand at the fractured vine one lying on his desk.

Looking over Albus's shoulder, she saw her wand glow gold, then snap back into place perfectly. She let out a large sigh of relief and braced her hands on the desk, relishing the feeling of _something_ finally going right since she got here. She picked up her wand, never so happy to have it in her hand once more. " _Avis_!" she said happily, and three bluebirds shot out, twittering as they started flying around the spacious office. Satisfied it was back in proper working condition, she turned to face Albus. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ," she gushed, reaching for his hands.

Albus, for his part, looked surprised, and he twirled his own wand through his fingers, studying it curiously. "I had no idea this wand was capable of that," he mused faintly, almost to himself, rather than to her. "Remarkable...absolutely remarkable..."

As he continued pondering, Hermione quietly vanished the birds, and hoped he wouldn't mention to the Matron she had used too much magic magic. True, such a simple spell shouldn't cause _this_ much fatigue, but having her wand back was worth it. It practically _hummed_ against her skin, as if it knew how close it came to death. She never wanted to let it go again.

 _I must have literally crash landed, facing down_ , she thought, slowly piecing together what happened by the lake yesterday. _Wand arm outstretched, causing the tip of the wood to splinter, then snap, followed by my wrist to break my fall... Then hitting my head on the rocks in the water... How long was I there until Minerva found me? s_ he wondered. _Long enough to nearly drown, clearly._ The shock of her own mortality hit her hard, and she tried to focus on breathing calmly once more. _Gods, I could have died._ She made a mental note to buy Minerva several dozen drinks and half a book shop when she got back to her own time. At least there, she had money.

"Jean?" Albus said, unbeknownst to Hermione, for the third time.

Bringing herself out of her thoughts, she looked up to meet his eyes. "Yes? Sorry, I was a world away..."

Albus smiled understandingly. "I said we should get you back to the infirmary, I think we've had enough excitement for the morning, don't you?"

"Quite," Hermione agreed, rising to her feet, grabbing the bag with her possessions and holding her wand tightly. Albus held the door open to her, but at not seeing Minerva outside, she frowned. _Hadn't Albus asked her to wait?_ As if sensing her question, Albus pointed to the archway that lead out onto the balcony. "She's probably waiting out there. I've told her to be nice," he added, chuckling to himself.

"I'm _always_ nice, Albus."

The dulcet tones of Minerva sounded from the archway Albus had indicated just moments ago as his Transfiguration Professor came into view. Cigarette in hand, Hermione had to admit she looked rather glamorous surrounded by sun and faint remnants of smoke. As Albus's chuckling grew louder, she had to wonder just what their relationship was at this point in time. She'd already heard him be silenced once under her glare. Despite her friendship with the older Minerva, she'd always been quiet about her early years as a teacher, never going into too many details about what her life was like. There were so many barriers to Minerva McGonagall, so many self-imposed walls. A puzzle. _Much like I am, currently_ , she thought.

The sound of Minerva's heels on the floor broke her out of her thoughts. As she walked, she banished her cigarette and offered a smile to Hermione, and the faintest hint of a smirk to Albus, causing him to just shake his head with a smile. "I was thinking, Jean," she said, turning back to Hermione, "That I should lend you a dress for the Ministry tomorrow. We can't have you gallivanting around the Ministry in a hospital tunic, now, can we?" she said.

"That...would be lovely, thank you," Hermione said, secretly very pleased she wouldn't have to wear the scratchy white dress she currently had on.

Minerva smiled approvingly. "We'll leave you here, old man," she said to Albus. "I'll see you later."

As the two women turned to leave, Hermione stopped. "Thank you, again, Albus. For...you know," she raised her wand slightly.

"Don't mention it, Miss Gray," he said, and Hermione understood the double meaning perfectly. One final nod to the man, and she followed Minerva down the corridor. If she looked straight ahead and not at the woman beside her, she could almost pretend she was at Hogwarts in her own time.

* * *

"Welcome to my humble abode," Minerva said as she opened the door to her rooms, ushering Hermione in quickly. "Take a seat, I'll make you some tea. I dare say you'd prefer to avoid the Hospital Wing for a bit longer, yes?" At Hermione's nod, Minerva gave a knowing smirk. "You've clearly spent far too much time with old me," she remarked. "My bad habits have rubbed off on you."

For the first time since she got there, Hermione laughed. Truly laughed. "In my time, more than half the Healers at St. Mungo's refuse to treat you. You terrify them. I think you threatened to turn one of them into a stick insect at one point."

The sound of clinking china stopped, and Minerva turned around, eyebrow raised as she walked over with a tray of tea and ginger newts – _some things never change_ , Hermione thought. "Now, whatever horrid thing did they do to deserve that?" she asked, a wry smile on her lips.

"I believe they tried to lecture you on having to eat more, so you simply wanted to show them what a _real_ stick insect looked like," Hermione said innocently, however she was unable to prevent the corners of her mouth from twitching.

Minerva stared at her for a moment, before sniggering and looking far too pleased with herself. "Oh, _please_ tell me I followed through," she grinned her Cheshire grin at her guest, before taking a sip of her steaming drink.

Hermione shook her head. "Sadly not, but you were at least discharged three days early after that little incident." She took a biscuit, a faint smile on her lips as she nibbled at it, thinking of all the times she and 'old' Minerva had had this same meal together. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at the young woman once more, struck by how different she was. This Minerva was far less conservative as her older counterpart. She wore noticeable make-up, had her hair down, with red manicured nails rather than the natural look Hermione was familiar with. She seemed so much more innocent, not having lived through two tragic wars, as if the only problem in her life _was_ misbehaving students. _And random bodies showing up by the Lake_ , she added wryly.

Minerva cleared her throat. "You're staring again, Jean," she said pointedly, the hint of a smirk on her red lips. She chuckled at Hermione's blush.

"Sorry," Hermione said, taking a sip of tea to hide her embarrassment. "It's just...strange. Seeing you."

"It's fine, really," she said, waving off the apology. "At least you're _of age_. Normally, it's hormonal teenage boys – and the occasional girl, but at least they're more discreet – staring at me while I'm _trying_ to teach them something useful _._ " She shook her head and rolled her eyes, before taking a pointed bite of another newt. "Perks of being the youngest on the staff by a good thirty odd years, I guess," she grumbled. Almost as soon as she said it, she became rigid and frowned, as if angry with herself. "God, sorry. That was completely unprofessional. I shouldn't be complaining-"

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said quickly, recognising when Minerva's walls were going up. She knew not to push when she was like this. It seemed that this Minerva was still perfecting her 'Professor Façade', as Hermione liked to call it. _Give it a few years_ , she wanted to say, _it'll be flawless. 'Ice Queen McGonagall' will be a Hogwarts legend by the time you're 35._

Gathering herself, Minerva gave a tense smile as her formal tone returned. "How about we find you that dress, yes? I think we're about the same size..."

* * *

 _2nd July, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

The morning of her Ministry appointment, Hermione had been pacing the hospital wing for what felt like hours. Her legs, while completely healed, were still weak and were protesting with each step she took. But she couldn't sleep. Wouldn't. When she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of her friends who, all logic told her, wouldn't see again, unless by some miracle the Time Department had survived Voldemort's reign and had a way to collect her from the past.

It felt strange to be wearing someone else's clothes. The dress Minerva had found for her was green, with a subtle neckline, and ended mid-calf. She wasn't usually one for something so feminine, but, as she reminded herself, it was the 50's. It was a different era for women; appearance was important, which was not something she usually cared about. She cringed, realising she might be stuck in this type of out-dated society for a while yet.

As the door opened, she pulled herself from her over-wrung mind and smiled in greeting at Minerva. Once more, she had changed – she was clearly in her _Professor McGonagall_ persona, what with her crisp robes and customary bun hairstyle. Gone was the make-up she had been wearing the past two days; even her red nail polish had been removed. It was like she was an entirely different woman, but one that reminded her achingly of home. _Oh damn, here we go again_ , she thought sadly as, yet again, she wondered what the hell was going to happen to her now.

"Good morning," Minerva said tightly, always more reserved at the first greeting of the day. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione sighed. How was she feeling? Exhausted, apprehensive, lost, confused and a myriad of other negative emotions. "Fine," she lied.

"Not hungry?" Minerva asked, noticing the untouched plate of breakfast Hermione had left on her bed.

After a guilty gulp, Hermione shook her head. "No, I-" she started, but stopped when Minerva strode over and lead her by the arm out onto the balcony that looked over the courtyard.

At a confused glance, the Transfiguration Professor merely gestured at the view. "I find it relaxing for a troubled mind, don't you?" She gave a knowing inclination of her head, before taking out a cigarette and taking a step away, giving Hermione her space, for which the latter was most grateful for.

 _She's right_ , Hermione thought, feeling calmer now that she was out in the open air. _Well, of course she is, she's Minerva bloody McGonagall_. The courtyard was different here; definitely more like a garden than the flat patch of grass and fountain she knew from her time. It was rather pretty – if her memory served, Professor Herbert Beery was currently the Herbology Professor, and he was known for his award winning gardens. It really shouldn't surprise her to see the grounds so well maintained with a variety of flowers and hedges.

"Do you smoke?" Minerva asked, breaking the silence after a while. Hermione turned her head to the left to see the woman holding out a cigarette.

"Not often," Hermione admitted.

Minerva hummed. "Take it, it might calm your nerves."

Hermione couldn't fault her on that one. She accepted it, waving her hand in front of it to set it alight, before bringing it to her lips. She tried hard not to cough. "You're a bad influence," she muttered to the Professor, with a shake of her head.

Minerva smirked through a haze of smoke, strumming her fingers on the stone railing and, like Hermione, resumed gazing out at the view. Yet again, Minerva had been right,Hermione found as she continued bringing the cigarette to her lips, despite her better judgement _. It's the 50's_ , she reasoned, _everyone does this_. She would have to get used to the culture shock; she knew she was going to be in for more of them sooner or later.

"Come," Minerva said, breaking Hermione out of her thoughts. "We have to get going." At Hermione's hesitant nod, she turned her around by the shoulders, green eyes boring into hazel. "You'll be fine, Jean. They're just going to ask you some questions, that's all. _Hopefully_ , they can send you home, and you can tell _old_ me that the pretty young thing she found by the lake was _you_ ," she grinned, clearly hoping to instil some measure of positivity over the meeting.

Hermione shook her head. "The only way I'm getting home is from my end, according to my history books. As it stands, it's unlikely the Time Department here possess anything strong enough to send me forward more than two months."

"Ah, Jean Gray," Minerva sighed, leading her back into the castle, "Not everything is documented in history books. The Time Department is notoriously private – more-so than the rest of the DoM; I doubt anything you hear about them is the full truth. Don't be so quick to trust everything you read."

* * *

 _2nd July, 1957_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Stepping out of one of the many Ministry fire grates, Hermione quickly dusted the soot off her dress and drank in the atrium before her. It was almost identical to what she left behind in 2001, however instead of Kingsley's smiling face beaming down from the Ministerial Portrait, it was Wilhelmina Tuft, a middle-aged blonde with a stern look about her, only enhanced by her rather dramatic eyebrows. It was of the general opinion that she had a relatively peaceful stint in office, given that there was no war to fight, the economy was booming and the world was well and truly out of the darkness Grindelwald had plunged them into in the previous decade.

After Albus and Minerva joined her, the three made their way through the lunch time crowds, stopping occasionally as someone recognised the Professor's. Albus politely disentangled himself from most attempts at conversation, while Minerva, not one for small talk when she was 'working', maintained a pointed silence. As they reached the lifts, however, a voice Hermione never thought she'd hear again sounded from behind the clattering doors – it was calling for Minerva.

"Minnie!"

Hermione's jaw slackened as a very young, and completely intact Alastor Moody stepped from the elevator, making a beeline for Minerva. She was struck by his appearance as a young man – stocky, muscular, with a mop of sandy hair and a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. Not a hint of the scarred and haggard man he would become. He had the same carefree innocence she had noticed Minerva having the day before. It made her blood run cold.

"Alastor," Minerva said to him, in a tone warmer than Hermione had yet to hear as he kissed her hand. "I'm here on school business, I'm afraid – can't chat _right_ at this moment-"

"Ah, no matter, _Professor_ , I'll be quick," he assured her, still smiling. "You going to Edgar's place for the picnic?"

Minerva pursed her lips. "I'm afraid I don't quite know at this point, I have a guest staying with me," she explained, glancing at Hermione briefly. "Forgive me, Jean – this is Alastor Moody. Al, this is Jean Gray."

Almost as if she were in a trance, Hermione found herself extending her hand to shake Alastor's, still not quite believing what she was seeing. He was so...happy? _Bubbly?_ Not even a shadow of the paranoid, brutish Auror he would become in her youth. Slowly, she registered he was speaking to her, and she tried to focus on his voice.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Gray," he said, looking at her curiously. "You should _both_ comes to Eddie's. You know what he's like, Min – the more, the merrier. Especially when women are involved," he laughed.

"Maybe-" Minerva started, a warning glare appearing on her features, but he cut her off.

"You're coming, Minnie, no excuses," he informed her, clearly undisturbed by the slight nostril flare of his friend. "Jean, make sure she comes," he added to her, with a crooked grin. Before she had a chance to reply, however, he bid them a quick farewell as he was late for his own appointment, but promised to owl later that night. Hermione looked over her shoulder as he walked away, and was surprised to see him do the same. She gave a tight smile, but once more, she found breathing was difficult.

He was so _young_. He looked so full of life. Yet again, War would end up destroying everything pure and good about a person. She remembered the grief she had felt when Bill Weasley had spoke of the late Auror's fate in the sky... He hadn't even been afforded a proper burial until a year after the fact. "Just- excuse me for a minute," she muttered to Minerva and Albus, before running to the nearest bathroom and bracing herself over the sink. Her mind was racing.

Everything was just so _wrong._

Her chest heaved as she stared at herself in the mirror; she looked a fright. She was pale, making the bags under her eyes look more pronounced, and she still had grazes littering her skin.

After slowly inhaling and exhaling, she splashed some cold water on her face to try and bring a bit of life back into her. _Stop being silly_ , she scolded herself, grabbing a paper towel to pat dry her face. _You're an Unspeakable, you're tougher than this._

"Jean?" Minerva's worried voice broke her out of her thoughts. "Jean, are you-?"

"Sorry," Hermione said, quickly wiping away a tear and turning to see Minerva standing in the doorway, looking rather concerned. "I um... I know him. Seeing him like this..." she trailed off, knowing she couldn't say anything more. How do you tell someone their friend would be murdered in 40 years by the most evil wizard of all time?

Minerva sighed sympathetically as she walked over to the sinks and wrapped Hermione in a slightly awkward embrace, much to Hermione's surprise. "It's ok," she soothed, stepping back and holding Hermione by the shoulders. "Come on, we'll be late. Afterwards, we can get a drink – you look in serious need one."

Hermione gave a watery smile and followed Minerva back out to the lifts. She was grateful Albus didn't say anything, she didn't trust herself to speak. As the cool voice announced the lift's arrival in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione took a breath of relief. The DoM was practically her home – some nights, she didn't even leave the office. Finally, she was back in her own territory. To both the surprise of both Albus and Minerva, it was she who lead them down the hallowed halls to the Time Department, taking a short-cut very few people knew about. At Minerva's curious look, she shrugged. "I'm an Unspeakable," she said simply.

* * *

 _30th June, 2001_

 _Ministry of Magic_

He dropped the note, as if it had stung him, and downed the rest of his drink. The more he thought of the woman he knew as Professor Jean Gray, the more he realised how _obviously_ similar she looked to Hermione. Older, with different hair, but still. It was uncanny. Part of him didn't want to believe it, that something had gone so terribly wrong on Level 9 that she was flung back in Time four decades, but as he recalled the hours he had spent in her classes – and detentions – at Hogwarts... The way she worked, how steadfast morals and ethics always accompanied her lessons...

"Oh, Merlin help me," he breathed, pouring himself another glass of scotch and drinking it quickly. There had always been _something_ about Hermione, he realised. Something familiar, but he had ignored it – there was a war going on, after all. Looking back, he remembered Alastor Moody being in a state of momentary shock at Grimmauld Place when they'd met the group of Hogwarts kids for the first time, while Emmeline Vance had just stared at Hermione for a good minute before coming to her senses.

 _They probably knew her. Personally_, he thought, cross-referencing their ages in his head. He didn't remember much of Professor Gray's memorial, but he was sure he remembered a few Auror's being present, Moody being one of them...Scrimgeour, maybe? And the Bones family? And Emmeline had been one of the nurses at Hogwarts while the Professor Gray – _Hermione –_ was teaching. She would have been at the service, too, surely?

So lost in his thoughts, he was unaware that the flames in the fireplace had blazed green and a visitor had arrived. It was only when he heard the clipped tones of Minerva McGonagall that he looked up from his empty glass.

"Stop over-thinking it, it just leads to a headache. _Trust me_."

Kingsley sighed, not having truly registered what she had said, placing the glass on his desk as he looked at Minerva, standing in front of the fire. She was as stoic as ever, black robes crisp and hair drawn back into a tight bun. He wondered, briefly, what she was doing here, but remembered that she and Hermione were rather good friends. Perhaps she had come for a personal update on the case? Maybe she was just as in the dark about Jean's real identity as everyone else? However, in her right hand, he saw an envelope with a wax seal that looked identical to the one currently on his desk. Unlike him, however, she did not appear to be in a mild state of shock. _Good Gods, did she know?!_ "Minerva," he greeted, attempting a smile and trying to calm his mind down.

"Kingsley," she returned, inclining her head slightly and raising the Time Department envelope, held between two manicured fingers. "You were told I would be in touch."

* * *

A/N: Thanks again for all the feedback so far!

Please review! x

(Oh, and Generic Magical Girl - your questions will be answered in the next chapter.)


	4. Handling Foreknowledge

A/N: Welcome to the longest chapter yet...

Chapter 4:

Handling Foreknowledge

 _2nd July, 1957_

 _Ministry of Magic_

The Time Department was different to what she had ever expected. Unspeakables weren't the most social of workers outside their own station, thus despite knowing where the different departments were in the maze on Level 9, Hermione had never actually been _into_ any office other than her own.

Until now.

Her office space was usually buzzing with activity, from deliveries of artefacts and reports, to hearing the sound of minor explosions from the adjoining laboratories where they housed their experiments and tests. The Time Department, however, was quiet. Eerily so. After the tragic experiment of Eloise Mintumble at the turn of the 20th century, most of the department had been disbanded and, judging by the fact she had only seen one secretary and one Agent, she guessed that was still the case.

It was with a jolt that she realised her own station didn't exist at this point in time. She briefly wondered what her office space was currently being used for, however she was broken out of her thoughts by the secretary clearing his throat. "Ms. Gray, Madam Artlock will see you now. The office is at the end of the hall. " He gestured to the door at the very end of the dark corridor.

 _Here goes nothing_ , she thought. "Thank you," Hermione smiled, sounding a lot stronger than she felt. With encouraging smiles from Minerva and Albus, she took a deep breath, before walking down the corridor. As she approached the door, it swung open of it's own accord, letting her into a rather spacious office. Madam Artlock, as Hermione had been informed, had been working for the department for the past twenty years, and had apparently handled a case like this once before, which was reassuring, to say the least. It was comforting to know she wasn't an anomaly.

"Ah, good morning," the petite woman behind the desk said, standing up and extending her hand to Hermione, smiling warmly. "You must be Jean Gray. I'm Yelena Artlock – welcome to 1957."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that. It's not like she was in this year by choice. "Lovely to meet you," she said politely.

"Take a seat, please," she said, gesturing to the chairs before her desk, and Hermione did just that. "So, Miss Gray – first things first, what's your _real_ name? No need for false identities in this room when it's just me."

For the first time since she arrived, Hermione let the comfort of her real identity fall from her lips. "Hermione Jean Granger." She paused, checking the spelling was correct as Yelena wrote it down.

"Ah," Yelena said, looking at the three words she had written. "Gray. _Gray_ -nger. Nice touch," she smiled. "I must say," she continued on briskly, "I was quite surprised to receive an owl from Professor Dumbledore. The last Ripple – that is to say, someone who is 'out of their own time' – we had appear had done it on purpose, however _you_ seem accidental. Is that right, Miss Granger?"

"As far as I'm aware," Hermione answered. "Extended time travel is illegal in my era, and given I myself am an employee of the Department of Mysteries – not in the Time Department, mind you – I uphold these laws to the nth degree."

Yelena's blonde eyebrows raised at this bit of information. " _Aude sapere_..." she tested, the faintest hint of a smirk on her full lips.

Hermione grinned. "But – _cave quid dicis, quando, et cui_ ," she finished the unofficial Department motto with a satisfied smile. It was times like these she realised Unspeakables were a strange bunch of people; they really did live in their own little world with their own traditions and rules. Completing the two-part quote was a form of greeting, as well as a test should you run into someone who claims to be an Unspeakable in the outside world. _Not that we get out all that often_ , she thought to herself.

"Well then, _Agent_ Granger," Yelena said, using Hermione's proper title, "It's not all good news. I know you're probably anxious to get home, but unfortunately, we have no way of sending you to – 2001, Dumbledore said?" She raised her eyebrows briefly, almost in disbelief, before explaining, "After Agent Mintumble... Well, we now know jumps longer than 18 months are far too dangerous for the body, hence it's now forbidden – in _1957_ , mind you," she stressed. " _Your_ Time Department, however, has had over 40 years to prepare for this, so they'll hopefully have created something to come and collect you. Until then, we can set you up here..."

All throughout Yelena's spiel, Hermione felt herself growing more and more nauseous as her reality sunk in. They had no way to send her home. Even if they did, it was forbidden. Yelena was going over the process to get Hermione recognised as a citizen but she barely heard a word of it. One sentence kept on repeating in her mind; ' _Your_ _Time Department has had over 40 years to prepare for this_ '... If that was the case, wouldn't they have stopped it? Prevented whatever accident caused this? All they would have needed to do was tell her not to go into work on the 30th of June, 2001 and _none_ of this would have happened.

She bit down on the inside of her cheeks to distract herself from the bitterness growing within her. _Focus, Hermione_ , she told herself.

"I have some questions for you," Yelena said, reaching into her top draw for some forms and a dicta-quill. "Your answers can be as long or as brief as you would like. First, I will be asking about the world you have come from and your criminal history, just to ascertain you're not here willingly or with ill intent." She took off her glasses and looked at Hermione seriously. "Anything you say will not leave this room. You need not be afraid of telling me of the future – handing such foreknowledge is my job. After all of that, we can progress to general and medical information – for that, you can have one of the Professors in here with you, if you'd like. I'd suggest young McGonagall; Albus Dumbledore is too easily compromised, what with his Wizengamot position-"

Yet again, her head was swimming. "Yes, I understand. Minerva will be fine," she said quickly, very concerned with the first part of the questioning. Given that, not only had a war been part of her recent history, she had been at the front and centre of it and would have a lot to gain by changing history. While she knew in her heart this time travel was nothing but an accident, some of those facts would _surely_ count against her. She'd landed right before Lord Voldemort started to make his presence known; the perfect time for an assassination attempt, if she'd been so inclined. However, she knew better than to meddle with the past. Once was enough in her third year. Never again.

"Excellent," Yelena said, oblivious to Hermione's new-found discomfort. "You will receive a copy of the finished questionnaire to take home with you, with names and years omitted. The only people with access to the original will be the Time Department; even Minister Tuft doesn't have the authority to view it. Any questions, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, but a warning – the first round of questions may not show me in a favourable light," she admitted, trying not to let her anxiety seep into her voice. "War," she said darkly, to Yelena's curious look. She was suddenly grateful Minerva would be there soon. Even if it wasn't the Minerva she knew, her presence would hopefully be enough to keep her calm. She hoped – no, _knew_ that, no matter the year, Minerva McGonagall was fiercely protective of her cubs. Even if Hermione wouldn't be one for another 34 years.

"Ah. Another one, eh?" Yelena said, pursing her lips. "We humans – muggles and wizardfolk alike – never seem to bloody learn." She shook her head, before changing her demeanour entirely and fixing Hermione with a knowing smile. "Well, _luckily_ , you're an Unspeakable. We look after our own, you know that. Now, shall we begin?"

Feeling only marginally reassured, Hermione resisted the temptation to sigh. "Fire away, Yelena."

* * *

The questions were brutal. Yelena's apologies did nothing to ease the fact that memories she'd long ago locked away in the back of her mind were forced to be relived. She never thought about the War anymore, it had taken a year of therapy to become even remotely stable and she did all she could to avoid the topic. Yet now, if she had any hope of being made a citizen of Britain, she had no choice but to elaborate.

"What was the political climate in your past decade?" Yelena asked, followed by, "Have you ever been involved in Government resistant groups? Were these groups violent? Are they still active?" Hermione knew the questions were merely protocol, but that didn't make them any easier to answer. On paper, she realised, she did sound mildly dangerous. While they were applauded for their war efforts after the fact, nothing the Order did was strictly legal at the time they were doing it.

It went on, question after question, and she had to explain that while no, she hadn'tused Unforgivable curses, she _had_ killed someone – multiple someone's, as it was a war. Furthermore, _yes_ , the instigator for said war _was_ alive in 1957, she did _not_ come here with the intent to kill him before he had – _has?_ – a chance to plunge Wizarding society into darkness and kill thousands of people. _Yes_ , she was aware that, if she remained in 1957, she would not be able to prevent _any_ of it. Yelena was firm in telling her that her department _would know_ if someone was alive who shouldn't be.

As Hermione's answers slowly got darker and darker as she elaborated on how she had been charged with crimes, and had been a fugitive of the law under Voldemort's reign, Yelena finally said they were at the end of the criminal history section. Hermione was relieved – she'd been on the verge of asking for yet another break to gather her thoughts. "I'll bring Professor McGonagall in and we can get started on general and medical history," Yelena said kindly. "Would you like some tea or coffee?"

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, yes. Tea, please," she managed to say, running her hand through her curly hair repeatedly, as she always did when she was stressed.

"I'll be back soon," Yelena assured her as she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Alone with her mind, Hermione tried to distract herself from her War memories and thought back to some of the many conversations she'd had with old Minerva, her mentor always repeating that, no matter what, she would _always_ help her young protégée, regardless of the situation. In fact, she was always rather insistent that Hermione remember that. While she waited for Yelena to return, she hoped the sentiment was still valid, despite it yet to be offered in this time.

* * *

Despite it being Summer, it was rather chilly in the Department of Mysteries. Minerva was grateful she had on her teaching garb. As stiff and as uncomfortable as it was, it was certainly keeping the cold out of her bones. Every minute or so, her green eyes would dart nervously to the door at the end of the corridor. Jean had been in there an awfully long time – how difficult was it to send someone home? Surely they'd just need her to sign a few consent forms, let her say a quick 'goodbye' and send her on her way back to...well, wherever it was she came from before she dropped out of the sky.

But as the minutes dragged on, she found herself recalling what Jean had told her earlier – that it wasn't possible. That she was stuck in this foreign time until the future came for her. _Hopefully Old Minerva will make Jean's Ministry do something_ , Minerva thought, still quite bewildered at the fact that Jean already knew her. It had made her head spin for the past two days, and she was still no closer to deciding how she felt on the situation. Aloof and reserved as she may be, Minerva couldn't fathom what Jean was currently going through and, as such, her walls were shaken. The girl needed a friend, and if Old Minerva – the vain side of her shuddered at that particular thought – had dinner with a former student fairly regularly, then clearly, she must be trustworthy. Shouldn't she?

"Albus," she murmured to the man sitting on her left, "What if they can't send Jean home? She seems to think it's impossible from this Time, and..." she trailed off, not quite knowing how to complete that sentence. She felt completely out of her depth; Hogwarts didn't exactly have a Teachers Manual for dealing with Time Travellers who show up during the summer holidays. _Merlin, she wanted a smoke..._

Albus, kind-hearted soul he was, tucked his novel away and briefly clasped their hands together. "Do not fear, Minerva," he said gently. "I'm sure they'll be arranging something for her. Standard protocol is Ministry Housing, and finding an entry-level job as quickly as possible."

Minerva felt her stomach clench. "Albus...you can't honestly be so accepting of that, can you? She's intelligent, anyone can see that. And Gods, the things I've heard about the Ministry housing...you can't-" she began, outraged, but stopped speaking when she saw him giving her that annoyingly knowing smile of his. "You're already planning something for her if she has to stay," she stated, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm thinking of calling in a favour with your friend Rosmerta's parents," he said quietly. "I _hear_ they are looking for a new barmaid, with the option of living on-site."

Raising her eyebrows, Minerva nodded. "That they are, Ros told me last week. You don't miss a trick, do you?" she grinned, relieved. "Thank you, old man. Hopefully, however, she'll be sent home in a few hours and I'll have worried for nought."

"Indeed. And I'm sure she'll have a _fascinating_ story to tell Old Minerva," he chuckled, stroking his beard absent-mindedly.

She scoffed, intent on giving a sharp retort, but fell silent and let her features quickly rearrange themselves into a neutral mask as she saw a woman she assumed to be the mysterious Madam Yelena Artlock approaching them from the corridor. After exchanging a worried look with Albus, the two Professors stood up to greet her.

"Professor Dumbledore," she said, extending her hand, "Professor McGonagall, thank you for coming. Minerva, might I ask you to come with me to the interview room? It appears I severely underestimated Jean's history, and I believe she could do with some emotional support for the remainder of the questioning."

"Of course," Minerva found herself saying instantly, eyes growing wide with worry as she processed what Yelena had said. "Is Jean well?" she asked as they two women hurried down the corridor.

Yelena sighed. "I fear she had to relive some rather horrid memories. The future has some dark times ahead, it seems. Please," she said opening the door, "Go in and I'll join you both in a few minutes."

Taking a deep breath, and summoning all of her Gryffindor courage, Minerva walked in to see Jean hunched over the desk, head in her hands, and an air of defeat surrounding the poor woman. "Jean?" she asked timidly, taking the vacant seat next to her.

Looking up at her voice, Jean gave a tense smile, that appeared to be far more like a grimace. She looked as though she'd been crying again. She was pensive for a few moments, and Minerva let her be, deciding that if Jean wanted to talk, she would do so. Eventually, she said, "Sorry for...well, suitably putting a dampener on your holidays. I'm not usually this pathetic, I swear." She tried to laugh, smiling despite the worry etched across her features.

Minerva never classified herself as a hugging type of person where complete strangers were concerned, however she _was_ learning. And once more, it seemed that a hug would probably to Jean Gray the world of good. For the second time that day, she pulled the woman into her arms and held her. Given how Jean instantly relaxed, she guessed that Old Minerva probably did this, too. "Don't apologise," she soothed, trying to think of a way to cheer the girl up. "I've witnessed the latest Hogwarts Legend, thanks to you, Jean Gray," Minerva whispered, a smile ghosting her lips. "I'm sure the story of 'The Body In The Lake' will be known throughout the school by midday, September 2nd. Probably spread by Robbie and Malcom McGonagall, knowing my little brothers," she added, rolling her eyes at the thought.

Jean gave a watery chuckle and sat back, wiping away her tears. "You know, that story exists when I start at Hogwarts. I'd never have guessed it was about me," she said, looking rather flummoxed at the realisation. "Merlin, this … this really isn't a dream..."

"Nope," Minerva said, lips twitching at the corners. "You're in 1957, darling." After a pregnant pause, her curiosity got the better of her. "So... Can they send you home?" she asked, very hopeful this ordeal would be over for Jean soon.

Jean shook her head, averting her eyes. "1957 doesn't have the technology," she said, voice breaking. "I have to wait for the future to come and get me. But..."

"But?"

With a defeated sigh, Jean said, "Look, we're still recovering from a dark and bloody war. For all I know, the Time Department might have been compromised, or destroyed entirely. So who knows how long I'll be stuck here." She closed her eyes, breath shuddering as she tried to breathe in and out slowly and calmly.

Minerva reached out and placed her arm around Jean's shoulders, leaning into her. "Oh, Jeanie," she murmured, "I'm so sorry. But look-" she leaned back and turned the other woman's face towards her, looking into her hazel eyes. "You said yourself that you and I are friends, yes? Well, do you honestly think that _I_ would let them just leave you here? Old Minnie will probably be breathing down their necks as we speak, and threatening to turn them into fucking _parrots_ or something if they don't hurry up."

To Minerva's great relief, Jean cracked a smile. "Knowing you..." Jean said fondly, "Yes, that I could imagine. I'd expect nothing less."

Just as she finished speaking, Yelena re-entered the room, carrying a tray with tea for three. "Here you are, ladies. Please help yourselves," she said, gesturing to the tea. "Jean, it's just general and medical information now. Since Minerva is present, you can't mention any names or exact years. Instead, I'll have you write them down on a piece of parchment for me," she explained, handing over the necessary writing implements.

Minerva busied herself with making tea for herself and Jean, trying hard to ignore the conversation going on around her. She'd seen Jean's medical scans, and the fact the woman was so shaken up at having to talk about parts of the future made Minerva rather disinclined to know what was to come. The thought that there was another Grindelwald in-the-making out there made her rather nauseous. As Jean answered questions calmly, and wrote things down occasionally, Minerva caught bits and pieces of _real_ information on the woman she had rescued. She was 21, muggle-born, and a Gryffindor. She had several Masteries, including one in Transfiguration – a fact that pleased Minerva greatly – as well as an Order of Merlin for Services of War.

As Jean went on to list a few more accolades, and then her medical problems, a few scant details of this War she had fought in emerged, and Minerva couldn't help but wonder – just _who was_ the woman she was sitting next to? _And what the hell has she lived through?_

* * *

The rest of the interview was a blur for Hermione. She knew Albus joined them at some point, to give a joint statement with Minerva, and Hermione found herself agreeing to let him take care of her living situation, as both he and his Transfiguration Professor weren't pleased with the idea of Ministry Housing. Truthfully, she was too exhausted to care either way. Her pain relief was wearing off, she'd had to recount too many horrible memories, and despite it all, she was still no closer to going home. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, but a small part of her had hoped that there was _something_ hidden away in these old vaults that could be of use to her.

"Jean, I will see to it that we have your citizenship request processed by tonight," Yelena was saying as she lead them to the door. "And I will be in touch within the week with all the necessary identity information, and a false back-story for you. Also-" she withdrew her wand and summoned a small purple drawstring bag from one of the storage shelves, "-Some galleons to see you through until we have a Gringotts vault for you. It will contain a more substantial sum, I promise."

Hermione took the money gratefully, murmuring a small 'thank you' as she closed the door behind them. She felt Minerva link arms with her, and relaxed slightly at having someone trying to keep her grounded. Human contact was a magic all of it's own.

By the time she had made it back to Hogwarts, Hermione was in pain, confused, and exhausted. She was _stuck here_ , in 1957, with no name, no proper identity, no access to _anything_ of her former life. Her favourite books didn't exist, all the reading materials on offer were incredibly outdated and, to top it all off, she had no job. Not being able to go to Level 9 was truly heartbreaking; she spent more time at the office than she did at her own home. Having free time was not something she particularly enjoyed. Every now and then, she'd meet her friends for dinner and drinks, occasionally stop by The Burrow for Saturday brunch, tolerated dates with Ron when he insisted on them, and of course, she saw Minerva to talk transfiguration when both of their schedules allowed it. But now, she was stuck in Hogwarts until the Ministry decided what to do with her, and Merlin knows how long that would take.

Even just having a sparring partner would set her mind at ease – _anything_ to keep her busy and active.

Instead, she found herself limping down the halls to Minerva's rooms after having had a large amount of pain relief potions in the infirmary that seemed to be doing no relieving whatsoever. Upon their return to Hogwarts, she had written down a list of ingredients she needed Albus to acquire for her so that she could brew her own drafts, and the delivery couldn't come soon enough. Cruciatus-induced pain was different to normal pain, and thus, had to be medicated differently. Simple potions, like _Pain Stopper_ , were rather useless for lasting injuries like hers.

Not that that sort of research existed yet. It would be another four decades before that came about.

Sighing, she reached Minerva's door and knocked, hoping to take her up on the offer of a drink she presented earlier. She felt bad for the young Professor – essentially being forced to be the friend of a girl she didn't know because said girl clearly did a major fuck-up at work. And, as Hermione was well aware, Minerva McGonagall didn't actively seek friendship with a good many people. Although, so far, young Minerva had surprised her. The bantering between her and Albus was amusing, and she did seem a little bit more approachable than the intimidating Professor McGonagall was in her own time. Hermione didn't quite know what to make of her yet.

"Here to drink away your sorrows?" Minerva asked as she opened the door, lips twitching upwards. Gone were the teaching robes she had on earlier - she was back in her muggle clothes, long black hair completely out, with a cigarette in hand, and looking far more relaxed than Hermione had ever seen her.

"That depends," Hermione said slowly, raising an eyebrow consiprationally. "Does your secret not-so-secret stash of Aristotle's Firewhiskey exist in the hidden bookshelf yet?"

Minerva scoffed, then grinned. "Oh, it certainly does, Jean Gray," she laughed, stepping aside to let Hermione in.

* * *

 _30th June, 2001_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Nerves were eating at Minerva. Kingsley had yet to speak, although he had grown paler since he registered her presence by the fire. She dearly hoped the events of the day hadn't been too hard on him. To be fair, though, it wasn't every day someone under your watch – someone you're _friends_ with – gets sent back in time 44 years. She had been prepared for accusations, and raised voices – Merlin, she was half expecting Kingsley to never want to speak to her again after finding out she knew this would happen. Instead, he was silent, which was not something she had planned for.

She waited.

Eventually, he said, "Take a seat, Minerva. I think we need some scotch for this meeting."

"Indeed, we do," she agreed quietly, sitting down in the arm chair by the fire. She toyed with the Time Department envelope again while he poured their drinks, wondering how best to approach this now. Tell the full truth? Part of the truth? The basic facts? For so long, she had kept Jean's secret to herself, and of the five people that _did_ know the truth – or had figured it out for themselves – four had been killed during the War.

Kingsley sat in the chair adjacent to her own, and handed her a generous amount of scotch. "To a fucked up situation," he toasted, and Minerva couldn't tell if it was sarcasm, or if he was serious.

 _Most likely a bit of both._ "You're telling me," she said, raising her glass, before taking a gulp. She sighed as the liquid settled in her stomach, and leaned back, feeling slightly more at ease.

"So," Kingsley said, after another silence, "You knew Jean. More-so than just 'Hogwarts work colleagues', I take it."

Minerva narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what angle he was taking with this. She couldn't be sure what he was feeling; his face remained impassive. "Yes," she said slowly. "I found her, washed up on the shore of the Lake, half dead. Scared the life out of me," she admitted, repressing a shudder at the memory. That image still haunted her nightmares. "Barely let her out of my sight again after that."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Jesus," he breathed, shaking his head. He sighed, before taking another sip of scotch. "How badly was she hurt?"

"She nearly drowned. Broken wrist, fractured skull," Minerva recalled, trying hard to keep the emotion from her voice. "Covered in burns and cuts. She was fine after a week, though – Albus, Trudie and I took good care of her, I assure you." She decided to risk a smile and, to her great relief, it was returned. "To us, it appeared as though she survived some sort of explosion prior to ending up in the water."

As soon as she'd said 'explosion', Kingsley's eyebrows shot upwards once more. "Well, that's what happened on this end of things," he sighed, palming at his eyes wearily. "The entire lab is just _black_. Everything is destroyed, and the other agents are still in ICU. Merlin knows what they were bloody experimenting on."

Minerva sniffed. "That's Unspeakables for you," she muttered, with a shake of her head. "Jeanie could never remember what happened," she continued. "There's a 14 hour gap in her memory. We tried everything – using a Pensieve, memory potions, legilimency..." she trailed off, the ghost of memories flashing before her eyes.

"But there was nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing," Minerva all but winced. "A fact that drove her mad. A Hermione Granger who can't remember something is bad enough, as you've _probably_ seen – but Jean was even _worse_ , believe me." She gave a delicate laugh as she had another drink of scotch, leaning back into the comfortable chair.

"Oho!" Kingsley laughed, grinning at the woman next to him. "That, I do not doubt. I remember what Professor Gray was like. Not as bad as you, but still – you did not want to get her worked up."

Minerva raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "It's a shame you're only realising that _now_ , Mr. Shacklebolt," she sniffed, with a roll of her eyes. "How many detentions did she give you and your group of friends? How many points did you cost my House?" To her utter delight, Kingsley looked suitably abashed at her tone of voice, before they both started laughing. She was perfectly aware she had just told off the Minister for Magic in his own office. The tension in the room lifted immediately, much to Minerva's relief. She respected Kingsley, and she was proud to call him a friend. The fact he was taking this so well was reassuring, to say the least.

"Gods, she's really in the 50's, isn't she?" he mused aloud, sinking back into his chair. "Professor Gray's Hermione. Merlin's beard." He stared into the flames of the fire, lost in thought for a long while, before turning to look at Minerva through inquisitively narrowed eyes. "She'll be so different when she comes back... _That's why_ you're here, isn't it? Ronald and Harry wont even know her – none of us really will, will we? Only you, and the friends you both had back then. _You_ know what she'll need when she gets back."

Nodding, Minerva brought her glass of scotch back to her lips. "Precisely," she said seriously. "When – or, God forbid, _if_ – she returns, she wont be the Hermione Granger she was at 9am this morning. She'll be 31, and after being Jean Gray for ten years, _this world_ will be but a very distant memory for her. She grows into a beautiful, but very complicated woman," she admitted, frowning as she recalled how different Jean became during the 60's. "By the end of it all, with the war fast approaching, her depression was an uphill battle. That's not just going to disappear by her coming back here. She's going to need to rest, recover, re-adjust to modern life. This..." she took in a shuddering breath, unsure how to proceed. Eventually, she murmured, "This isn't going to be easy."

Kingsley appeared to be slightly stunned, but reached over to give her small hand an affectionate squeeze, which she returned, while giving a sad smile. "We'll get her back, Minerva. I promise you."

She appreciated his assurances, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, both lost in their thoughts. Minerva's eyes were unfocused as she gazed at the drink she held in her hands. She was still very, very curious as to why Jean was stuck in Time for ten years. She was desperate to get her hands on the old records the Time Department had on the case.

Breaking the silence, Kingsley asked quietly, "There was no stopping this, was there? Even if she had known...if we'd tried to stop it...Time would find another way to get her back there, wouldn't it?" He was frowning as he looked at her, an expression she remembered from his school days when he came across an unsavoury fact.

Minerva nodded grimly, before downing the rest of her drink. "Yes, it would have. I... I have spent _years_ studying it with a revered Time Mistress – Perri, who knew Jean quite well – trying to understand it all... To see if we could prevent it..." she sighed, shaking her head in defeat. "But it's a loop. It's all already happened."

"So she's not changing the past?" he asked.

"No," Minerva replied. "She's fulfilling it."

* * *

A/N: Latin translation for the Unspeakable motto-

 _Aude Sapere:_ Dare to know.

 _Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui:_ Beware what you say, when, and to whom.

Kinda sums up the DoM in my mind...

Thank you for reading! Please review - they make my day.

Love,

Lily xo


	5. This Isn't Kansas

Chapter 5

This Isn't Kansas

 _5th July, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

If there was one word Hermione Granger never wanted to hear or speak of again, it was 'time'. Time had become the bane of her existence. She had far too much of it on her hands, which lead to her dwelling on the fact that _time_ , currently, was the source of all of her problems. Try as she might, she had no idea how she managed to end up in the past. Her memory was still blank, although she _could_ recall how disappointing her late night dinner of butter chicken had been the night before the accident happened. The part that scared her the most was, apart from the fact she was 44 years in the past, how she had gotten from the Department of Mysteries to _Hogwarts_ , breaking through the school protection wards in the process. Time travel was involved in her accident, but clearly, there was a teleporting element woven in somehow. _Gods, if that had ended up in the wrong hands_ , she thought, repressing a shudder as she stirred her bubbling cauldron again.

She'd taken to hiding out in Matron Trudie Davies' potions lab to brew her medical needs. Albus had been kind enough to procure her enough ingredients to get her through the next month, and had refused to take any money for it. For that, she was both embarrassed, and grateful. While she had plenty of galleons at home, she was on a very tight budget now. At least until she could find a job, and she was unable to do that until her citizenship request had been approved.

 _Patience, Hermione_ , she kept on chanting to herself every time she started getting restless or anxious. She focused once more on her potion, adding one drop of diluted doxy venom to her brew. It hissed as it hit the amber concoction, and Hermione set her wand timer for 45 minutes to let it fester. It wasn't a pleasant process – the smell was horrid, and in such a confined space, it was difficult to avoid. Deciding she might as well do something else instead of reading out-of-date magical papers lying about, she quickly _scourgified_ her dress and headed out of the castle to the lake, intent on breathing in some fresh air.

It was a glorious afternoon, she had to admit. Despite the heat, there was a light breeze about, and mixed in with the wonderful aromas of Professor Beery's gardens, Hermione found herself relaxing for the first time since she arrived. Even the water looked inviting and, since she'd been unable to in her own time, she found herself walking out on the jetty. As she neared the end, she took off her shoes and sat down, letting her legs hang over the edge and her toes to graze the cool water. An involuntary sigh of contentment escaped her chest. For a while, her problems seemed to vanish from her mind as she leaned back against the wooden pillar, eyes closed, just _feeling_ the air, and the water, the silky material of the black dress she had transfigured earlier that morning.

Her custom pain relief potion, which she had brewed the day before, was definitely working. She was never not in pain, but it was a significant improvement from the remedies Hogwarts had on hand. She almost felt normal, by 'Hermione standards', which made this brief respite even sweeter. In 20 minutes, she would face reality again, but for now... Now, she would listen to the world around her, and savour the fact that no matter _when_ she was, Hogwarts felt like home.

All too soon, her wand emitted a soft bell chime; warning her that she had 10 minutes to get back to the potions lab in the Hospital Wing. Sighing, she quickly dried her feet and slipped her shoes back on, before hurrying off, glancing wistfully once more just as she reached the steps to the entry hall. She made a mental note to have a break on the jetty again – perhaps with a book next time. The usual place she read at by the lake when she was a student was currently taken up by a sculpted hedge in the shape of a snitch.

She dashed up the stairs, and after taking a quick shortcut behind an old tapestry Harry had told her about years ago, she came out right next to the Hospital Wing. As she opened the doors, however, she was surprised to see Minerva perched on the bed at the very end of the hall, flicking lazily through a book. " _There_ you are," she said brightly, as Hermione walked up the ward. "I figured you'd be back here sooner or later."

Embarrassed that Minerva had been waiting for her, she hastily apologised. "Gosh, sorry," Hermione said, quickly re-tying her hair back into a bun before she went into the lab, beckoning Minerva to follow her. "I was out by the lake-"

"It's fine, it's fine," Minerva said impatiently, with a wave of her hand. "I was just coming to say – I'm meeting my friend Ros for a drink in Hogsmeade at her parents' bar later and wondered if you wanted to join us? If we leave earlier," she continued, barely giving Hermione a chance to process the information, "We could stop by _Munston's & Co. _and you can get a few clothes. You can't wear transfigured pillowcases forever," she reasoned, green eyes trailing down Hermione's dress. "No matter _how_ lovely your designs are," she added, her hand ghosting over Hermione's shoulder to feel the silk fabric.

Hermione gave a knowing smile. "I had an excellent teacher," she said, in reference to the dress. She went to the back of the lab, rustling through the jars she'd left on the table to find the final ingredient – lemon grass, to take away the bitter flavour of murtlap – and quickly added it to her potion, before taking the cauldron from the flames and placing it on the cooling bench and stirring methodically. "And yes, shopping and drinks. Sounds good," she said to Minerva, who was watching her from the window. "Would this _Ros_ happen to be Rosmerta, be any chance?" she asked, looking up.

Minerva laughed at the question. "Oh, this is marvellous. I don't even need to do introductions, you _know_ everyone!" She laughed again, the soft sound echoing around the tiny lab. "Yes, it's Rosmerta. Rosmerta Williams. Her parents own-"

" _The Three Broomsticks_ ," Hermione finished. "Yeah, she runs the place in my Time." With her potion cooling, she grabbed her wand and conjured several glass bottles, floating them down to the work bench. After making sure there were no deformities in her design, she ladled the potion into them slowly, taking care not to spill a drop. While earlier, it had been amber in colour, it was now a translucent mint green, and the aroma of lemon grass wafted through the air.

"So, can you tell me what you've made, or is it a big secret from the future?" Minerva asked with a grin, sliding over and picking up the bottle Hermione had just stoppered. Like the teacher she was, she investigated it thoroughly, holding it up to the light to see the translucency for herself, and flipping it over in her hand to view the consistency.

Hermione chuckled, marvelling at how cat-like Minerva could be at times. "Migraine relief," she answered. "Its base is a potion created in the mid-80's, but I've made some additions to the recipe." She put a stopper in the final bottle, and began writing on the labels. She still couldn't get used to writing the date – it was even stranger than writing it after the new millennium began.

"Migraine relief?" she heard Minerva ask softly. "Better than Ashward's Serum?" Hermione looked up to see the woman gazing longingly at the bottle of potion she still held.

Putting down her quill, Hermione reached over and held Minerva's hand. Nodding, she said, "Keep it, I made extra. I know you get them just as badly as I do. And you _did_ save my life the other day."

Minerva seemed stunned for a moment as she looked between Hermione and the potion. Hermione resisted the urge to giggle at the war that was clearly going on inside Minerva's brilliant mind. "Jean," she said slowly, "Isn't this technically against the law? This potion doesn't exist yet."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you don't want it, I'd be more than happy to take it back..." she began lazily, but Minerva clutched the bottle to her chest protectively, looking mockingly affronted at the very thought.

"No," she said quickly, her voice shooting up an octave. "It's mine." She grinned, and once she had secured the bottle safely in her pocket, she gave Hermione a quick hug. "Thank you. Really," she whispered as she drew back. She sighed, leaning back against the table while Hermione finished her labelling. "It's strange," Minerva said, after the scratching of the quill had stopped. "You know so much about me, yet I know so little of you. It's almost unfair," she teased.

Hermione chuckled and leaned back in her chair, looking up at the woman standing next to her. "Especially for someone as private as you," she said understandingly. "Tell you what – after we go shopping, we can have dinner together, and you can interrogate me to your heart's content. How does that sound?"

After considering for a moment, Minerva smiled. "Sounds most appropriate," she agreed.

* * *

 _5th July, 1957_

 _Hogsmeade_

Hermione had yet to visit Hogsmeade since she arrived in 1957, and she was delighted to see it looked almost identical to what she was used to. Some of the shops were different – she couldn't resist being relieved to see that Madam Puddifoots didn't exist yet (although she could see that the little house it _would_ occupy in the future was currently for sale), and Gladrags had yet to open an outlet, but Zonko's and Scrivenshaft's were there, as was Tomes & Scrolls, her favourite book shop.

Despite it being late in the afternoon, the small township was bustling with people. She realised she'd never visited the town outside of scheduled Hogsmeade weekends at school, when most of the locals took to hiding away in their homes lest they be overrun by school children. Now, however, people were in and out of the hair salon, going grocery shopping, being...well... _normal_ , which was not a word Hermione usually associated with Wizarding towns. There was a group of excitable children milling around Zonko's, some with the latest prank toys on offer, while some were bartering with each other for dungbombs with treats from Honeydukes.

As they walked, it was in comfortable silence. Hermione had learned that Minerva wasn't one for constant conversation, which, given how erratic her own emotions were, suited her just fine. She needed time to think, to dwell and, for those brief moments when she blessedly _forgot_ when she was, she needed to appreciate the small things – like how pretty Hogsmeade was in the setting summer sun. The sky was streaked with orange and pink, and the light danced across the tiny streets, reflecting off every shiny surface it could find. It certainly looked like something out of her muggle fairytale books.

Rounding the corner to High Street, Minerva pulled Hermione into what seemed to be the only clothes shop in town that had anything remotely suitable for a younger clientele. "It's not the finest of day wear," Minerva whispered as they found some plain black dresses, as well as some skirts and blouses that looked as if they would fit, "But it's cheap, and it'll do until you have more than 5 galleons to your name. Or until you find some ruby slippers you can click three times to make your own way home," she added, with a wink. Their mutual love of muggle film and literature had been discovered during their Firewhiskey drinking session the other day, and Minerva seemed to love being able to slip in references to conversation and have someone _actually_ understand them.

"Well, yes, this certainly isn't Kansas," Hermione sighed, feeling rather lost and confused like Dorothy, although she did smile. Despite that, however, she was out of her comfort zone, both money-wise, and fashion-wise, in this shop. Skinny jeans and blazers were her wardrobe at home, and protective dragon-hide gear, or robes were what she wore at work. Dresses and skirts were rather impractical for her day-to-day life, and a hazard in the labs, yet they were seemingly the only thing available for women to buy in Munston's. Try as she might, she couldn't find a pair of trousers anywhere.

Resigned to her fate, she quickly purchased the items she had found – even the strange undergarments and hideous nightgown Minerva had thrown at her – and shrunk them all to fit in her pocket. She hoped that the next shopping trip would also include several books, but for now, the bare necessities would have to do. _At least I now have actual possessions_ , she mused to herself as they made their way to The Three Broomsticks. At that realisation, she felt newly protective of what she'd bought, and scolded herself for being so ungrateful earlier. After looking at it rationally, she became aware that her situation could have ended up very badly if she'd appeared anywhere _other_ than Hogwarts. And, in front of anyone _other_ than Minerva.

With that in mind, as they made their way into The Three Broomsticks, she promised herself that, no matter what happened, she would try to make the most of this – hopefully brief – stint in the past. Or at least, try not to be too negative about it.

"Minnie, darling, you're here early!"

Even in 1957, Madam Rosmerta's – or, rather, just _Rosmerta's_ voice was unmistakable over the noise of the bar patrons. Chirpy and loud, it was everything a barkeep needed.

Stepping out from behind the bar, a young woman – maybe a year or two out of Hogwarts, Hermione guessed – with a mass of blonde curls piled atop her head came towards them, arms outstretched. Hermione was taken aback by the beauty of young Rosmerta, and now very much understood why Ron (and most of Hogwarts, really) had a slight attraction to her. She quickly hugged Minerva, despite the latter's attempt to dissuade the blonde, before turning her eyes to Hermione. "And you must be Jean! I'm Ros," she said happily, pulling Hermione into a hug, as well. "Minnie says you're new to the area?" she asked as she grabbed two menus and lead them to the small dining area out the back.

After shooting a questioning glance at Minerva, she turned back to Rosmerta. "Yes, bit of a sudden thing, I must admit," she said awkwardly, not having come up with a cover story, nor having had one sent to her from Yelena yet.

"And that you're looking for work?"

At that excited remark, Minerva elbowed Rosmerta in the ribs. "I haven't told her yet, Ros _merta_ ," she hissed, before turning to Hermione. "Ros's parents - Orla and Brandon - are hiring. And you'd get a room here. If – if you're interested, that is. I-" she almost cringed, and looked away awkwardly. "God, I didn't even _think_ to ask you if-"

Hermione realised what Minerva had tried to organise, and was almost overcome with emotion. She'd have a job... And a place to _live..._ She wouldn't have to rely on the Ministry to get her through until she could go home. And work was work, even if it was hospitality. It would keep her on her feet and distracted, and that usually meant a rather happy Hermione. Without thinking, she pulled Minerva into a tight embrace, ignoring her protests. "Oh my gosh, Minerva – this – oh, that's wonderful!" she said, grinning widely and refusing to let her go.

Rosmerta gave a soft laugh at the display of affection. "Just owl us when you want an interview, Jean," she said warmly. "Or stop by, since you're staying at the castle. Both Dumbledore and Minnie said you're a bit sick at the moment, so there's no rush."

Hermione finally let Minerva go, and turned to Rosmerta. "Thank you, I – I had no idea they were planning this," she laughed, taking a seat at the small table Rosmerta had set aside for them. "I'll definitely be in touch soon."

After Rosmerta told them she'd be back for their orders soon, Minerva cleared her throat. "I know it's nothing like being an Unspeakable, but I figured this-" she gestured to the general vicinity, "-Might just get you by if you're still here next month with no way home. I hope that wasn't too presumptuous," she added uncertainly, finally bringing her green eyes up to meet Hermione's.

Hermione just smiled at her, and reached across the table for her hand. "Minerva, I'm speechless, honestly. I hadn't even thought that far ahead. I just … thank you. Really, truly, _thank you_."

Minerva gave a tense smile. "I also owled some of my old Ministry contacts about 'citizenship requests' and what that generally entails, and according to _them_ , it seems..." she sighed, nostrils flaring ever so slightly, "It seems that your Masteries are null and void until you've been living here for a certain amount of time – usually a year, if you pass the risk assessment. So retail and hospitality jobs are your lot, sadly." To Hermione's surprise, Minerva's lips had thinned as she finished that sentence. "Which is ridiculous," she continued on, "Because you've got three Masteries to your name, and an Order of fucking Merlin, and you're reduced to being a barmaid."

While Hermione usually loved it when Minerva went on one of her rants, she felt that she needed to calm her down before she got too worked up. She could tell this had been eating at her for a while. "Minerva, it's ok, seriously," she practically cooed. "My friends, my ex – hell, even _you_ tell me – frequently, I might add, in both written and verbal form – that I work too much and should take a break. So who knows, maybe this brief 50's jaunt will be good for me," she said, trying to lighten the mood. She smiled, and after a moment, Minerva returned it, cheeks flushed.

"Sorry. My Scottish temper gets away from me fairly often," she laughed, running her long fingers through her hair. "And I can't take it out on the children, so it's my adult friends that now suffer."

Hermione snorted. "Oh, trust me, I know," she said fondly. A fired up Minerva was always an interesting woman to converse with – she had a skill for cutting insults, and an extensive vocabulary for foreign swear words.

With both women falling into silence, Hermione had a look at the menu, and was thrilled to find that the legendary _Broomsticks Cottage Pie_ was available in 1957. A large serving of that, some Butterbeer, followed by some Firewhiskey later, and she'd be quite content with her lot. Her mouth was already watering – she realised that with her obsessive potion brewing, she had been neglecting to eat properly.

After Rosmerta came back and took their orders, Minerva took to staring at Hermione through narrowed eyes while smirking slightly, causing Hermione to raise an eyebrow. "What?" she asked, suddenly feeling quite self conscious under the intense gaze.

"You said I could interrogate you, Jean Gray," Minerva said slowly, with a grin worthy of a Slytherin. "I'm just deciding what to ask first."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head at the expression on Minerva's face. A moment later, their butterbeers floated over, cream piled high on top. After inhaling the familiar scent, Hermione brought the glass to her lips, desperate for a bit of sugar to perk her up a bit.

"You mentioned an ex just before," Minerva said lazily, leaning back in her chair, her own glass of butterbeer in hand. "Is there a story there?"

Hermione sighed, and rolled her eyes. _Of course, she had to ask that bloody question_ , she grumbled to herself. "Broke up with him last week," she said pointedly. "He was talking _weddings_ and I realised I...well, I'd rather be married to my job than to him," she admitted. "I mean, I practically am already; I'm only ever really at home to sleep, that's it – and I wasn't going to change my priorities. It was a dead-end relationship anyway." She took a sip of her drink, contemplating her feelings – or, lack thereof. She felt nothing when she thought of Ron these days. No flutter in her chest, no urge to kiss him, or take him to bed. He liked to blame her work for their demise, but the truth was, she just had fallen out of love with him. They were too different, and she told Minerva as much.

"I get that," Minerva said gently. "Us academics are difficult to pin down. The average man or woman can't handle us," she laughed.

Taking advantage of the fact Minerva was having a sip of her drink, Hermione countered with a question of her own. "Do you have someone special in your life?" she asked, hoping it wasn't too personal of a question.

Minerva froze for a moment, staring into her drink, before a small smile ghosted across her lips. "Her name's Milly," she said quietly. "It was all very unexpected. But she helped me get over a very, very bad break-up, so I'll always be grateful for that."

By the tone of voice, and the way her eyes went glassy, Hermione guessed that Minerva still wasn't completely over that break-up. However, with the other woman crossing her arms across her chest, Hermione realised that a subject change was in order. "So, this-" she began, but Minerva wagged a finger across the table.

"Oh no, my turn," she grinned, back to her cheery self. "Interrogation, Miss Gray, remember?" She used her teaching voice, which made Hermione laugh into her drink. Minerva cleared her throat, grin still firmly on her lips. "Do you prefer cats or dogs - _bearing in mind_ , this could destroy our budding friendship," she said seriously. Her twitching lips, however, were hard to ignore.

Hermione gave a smug smile. "Cats, of course," she said lightly. "My pet cat, Croo-" suddenly, her eyes went wide as she realised – she'd forgotten all about Crookshanks! _Who would feed him? Who would look after him? Merlin knows how long I've been gone in the present_ , she thought, horrified.

"Jeanie?" Minerva asked cautiously. "You're scaring me a little.."

Shaking the thoughts from her head, Hermione focused on Minerva. "Message for Older Minerva," she said seriously, pointing her finger at her dining companion, "Once you realise I'm missing, _please_ feed my cat. You know him, he likes you. He wont attack if you show up unannounced."

Minerva chuckled, reaching across the table to hold Hermione's hand reassuringly. "I will, I promise. I assume I will know by then what his favourite biscuits are?"

"You will," Hermione smiled, feeling much calmer now that she knew someone would look out for Crookshanks if something ever happened to her.

"Will I even be able to get into your house?" Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't mean this negatively, but you _do_ seem like the sort of person with a lot of privacy wards."

Resisting the urge to groan at how easily _this_ Minerva could read her as well, she nodded. "Just floo over. And I know how many books I own, so don't get any ideas," she added, laughing at how ridiculous this was – giving Minerva information to act on in 44 years. She was very grateful they were the only two in the dining area.

Minerva chuckled, shaking her head at Hermione. "I'll bear that in mind," she grinned, before taking a long drink of butterbeer.

With Minerva distracted for a moment, Hermione took her turn at questioning. "This picnic we've been invited to," she said, remembering the invite an owl had delivered to Minerva and 'Jean' the night after her Ministry appointment, "Who's hosting it? What's the occasion? You never ended up telling me."

"Oh!" Minerva said, eyes widening. "Yes, sorry. It's Eddie. Edgar Bones. Heard of him from your day?" Without waiting for a response, she continued, "He was in my year at school. His family has this grand estate in Cornwall and every summer, our strange array of friends and our siblings all congregate for a day in the sun. We're all married to our jobs or our studies, so it's _rare_ for us to all get a chance to see each other at the same time. But it's jolly fun – we go for a dip in the lake, play a bit of Quidditch..."

While Minerva was talking, Hermione did her best to focus, even though it felt as if a block of ice had settled in her chest. _Edgar Bones. Auror. Member of the Original Order. Entire family – including children – killed in the First War_ , she remembered. He was also the Uncle of her friend Susan. With a jolt, she realised that there was a good chance the entire picnic would be full of people she only recognised from lists of the dead. Suddenly, she couldn't wait to get home. She wasn't sure she could handle being around so many 'ghosts'; seeing Alastor Moody at the Ministry had been emotional enough. How many more was she to see before she cracked completely? She couldn't warn them, she couldn't prevent anything. She had to just _let it happen._

Thankfully, her sombre thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of their meals, accompanied by Rosmerta, who pulled up and chair and joined them. "Ma and Dad let me finish early so we could chat," she explained happily, shaking out her voluminous hair. "What are we talking about, darlings?" She'd brought with her a huge serving of chips, a large bowl of apple pie and custard for them to share later, as well as a bottle of wine and three glasses. Hermione was liking her more and more, and made a note to come to Hogsmeade more often when she got home.

"Eddie's picnic," Minerva answered, delicately blowing on a spoonful of her soup. "Are you coming?"

"Of course!" Rosmerta said. "Who else do you think he gets the discounted drinks from?" she laughed, before she started pouring the wine expertly. "Robbie and Mal going, too?"

"Mhm," Minerva nodded. "It's _oh_ , so handy having an older sister who can side-along you all over the bloody country in the summer," she groaned sarcastically, rolling her eyes - but the smile was fond. Hermione was curious about Minerva's brothers – the Professor had mentioned them offhandedly several times, but hadn't elaborated, although it was clear that they were mischief makers. She suddenly wondered how Minerva handled having them in her classes.

As they ate and drank, Rosmerta filled Minerva in on local gossip, and the antics the students got up to on the last Hogsmeade weekend, causing the Professor to groan, cringe, and bury her head in her hands rather frequently while muttering darkly about 'teenagers' and how 'we were _never_ that bad'. Hermione listened, occasionally hearing a familiar name, and settled back in her chair. If this was what life could be like in 1957 – funny conversations with Minerva and Rosmerta over a good meal and a bottle of wine – then she might just be able to handle it.

For a month or so.

 _Maybe._

Then she'd need to find a Dark object to pick apart and study – she didn't know how long she could last without doing a bit of curse-breaking.

* * *

 _30th June, 2001_

 _Ministry of Magic_

The clock had just chimed 11PM, and Kingsley was still in his office. Minerva had left hours ago, needing to get back for the End of Term Feast, and he'd sent his secretaries home soon after. His head was still spinning with everything that had happened today. He was curious about the woman Hermione would become. Surely, there would be some records of her in the Auror office. He wondered if it was an abuse of his power to request Jean Gray's files, but then figured it might be useful to know just _who_ was returning. He made for his desk, intent on writing a memo, when a cough sounded from behind him. He turned, facing the wall of portraits of the previous Ministers for Magic. He scanned them all, looking for the one who clearly wanted his attention.

"Rufus?" he asked, noticing that his 'official' predecessor was the only one awake at the late hour.

The grizzly haired Minister nodded from his frame. "You wont find anything on her in Law Enforcement," he informed the current Minister gruffly. "Her files were always sealed while she lived, and as soon as she disappeared, they were wiped. You want to know about her, you ask McGonagall."

Kingsley heaved a sigh, seemingly frozen otherwise. Of course; 'Jean Gray' was a Department of Mysteries issued identity. She didn't exist. There would be nothing on her in general records. "Cheers, Rufus," he muttered, stifling a yawn. "Don't suppose you could shed any light on her?"

Rufus shook his head. "I could," he admitted, "But it's not my place, Shacks. Min's the woman you talk to."

"She was happy, though?" Kingsley asked him quickly. "Lived a good life while she was there?" With no response from the portrait, Kingsley glared at it. "Come on, Scrimgeour. I care about her. I just want to know if... If..." He trailed off, shaking his head as worry seeped into his thoughts once more.

An exasperated sigh came from Rufus. "Look, apart from the depression Minerva mentioned - _yes_ , I was listening in; I'm just as curious about this as you, believe me," he said pointedly as Kingsley frowned at him. "Apart from that, as far as I knew, she _was happy_. She wouldn't want you to feel guilty about this, Shacks."

A curt nod from the painting signified that this was the end of the conversation, and Kingsley decided it was time to head home. It had been a long, merciless day, and tomorrow was shaping up to be the same, what with a visit to the Ministry Ward at St. Mungo's to check on the wounded Unspeakables, and Minerva arriving some time after 11AM to meet with the Time Department, amongst other things. As he left his office, he paused and looked back at the portraits. _Rufus knew her, too._ He couldn't help but wonder just who else was caught up in the Jean Gray case...

* * *

AN: So I honestly had no idea Jean Grey was a character in X-Men... Needless to say, I'm very relieved I used 'a' in 'Gray' instead of 'e'!

And yes, our dear Minnie's dating someone. You didn't think this would be quick, did you? ;) But for now, please enjoy her and 'Jean' getting to know each other for a while longer. As always, let me know your thoughts!

All my love xo


	6. A Fabricated Life

Chapter 6:

A Fabricated Life

 _8th July, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

At long last, Hermione received a rather large package from the Time Department. She had been at the end of the jetty again, toes in the water, and book in hand – Minerva had kindly let her borrow _Pride and Prejudice_ , which she was very grateful for – when a large barn owl had started pecking at the sleeves of her blouse rather impatiently. "Oh! Hello," she said to the bird, having been so distracted by Mr. Darcy that she hadn't noticed the winged creature's arrival. She carefully untied the envelope from the owl's leg, rather daunted by the size of it. Fabricating a life required a lot of parchment and, if she wasn't mistaken, several small books. With his job done, the bird flew off, and Hermione returned her focus to what the Time Department had sent.

The parchment envelope, she had to admit, was rather overly-embellished, with gold filigree pressed into the borders, and stamped with an ornate _Time Department – M. O. M_ wax seal in signature royal purple. It was almost too pretty to crack.

With the wind picking up, Hermione decided to head back indoors, lest anything be blown away. Albus had been kind enough to let her stay in the Hogwarts guest quarters now that her injuries were mostly healed, which meant a large living space, double bed and a small kitchenette. It was much nicer than being in the Hospital Wing all the time, she had to admit. After saying the password to her rooms – _hopscotch –_ the portrait of Wendelin the Weird swung forward to let her in. By the time she had sat on the small settee, the wax seal was broken and Hermione read over Yelena's letter, frowning within seconds.

 _Dear Miss Gray,_

 _Your citizenship request has been approved by the Magical Immigration Department. Enclosed is a birth certificate, passport, bank account information, travel documents, education certificates and a basic back-story in the name of Jean Cecilia Gray._

 _Unfortunately, due to your past involvement in anti-Government resistance groups, you failed the risk assessment, and as such, you will need to prove yourself to be a safe member of the community before your Masteries and titles will be reinstated. At this time, there is no limit as to how long that will take, however as long as you abide by the law and report for check-ins, it should be no issue after 5 years._

 _Should you be interested, there's additional information on settling in to life in 1957, as well as tips on potential security measures you can take to protect your real identity. Along with that, there are coupons and other vouchers to help get you set up, and a sum of 30 Galleons has been placed in a Gringotts account for you._

 _Assuming you are still here, your first check-in is scheduled for the 4th of November, 1957 at 3pm._

 _If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Madam Yelena Artlock_

 _Time Department; Department of Mysteries_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Hermione glowered at the offending piece of parchment as she let out a feral groan. A risk to the community? _Seriously_? She'd told Yelena that she'd nearly died trying to _save_ said community in the future, how on earth had that been miscommunicated? She threw the letter across the room with a scowl on her face, tempted to incinerate it on the spot. However, as she looked at her lap, she noticed a small piece of parchment, also covered in Yelena's writing. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up to see what more salt the woman could rub into her wounds.

 _Jean – I'm so sorry, I tried appealing to the MID, but since Grindelwald, there are a lot of safety precautions around refugees with complex magical history. I've been fighting for the past week to get them to reconsider their 'risk assessment' results, which is why it's taken me so long to get all this to you, but to no avail._

 _I haven't given up, nor have the rest of my team. I'll be trying to get you a job worthy of your abilities as soon as humanly possible. Until then, keep your head down and avoid trouble at all costs._

 _No word yet from your Time. If/when they make contact, I'll let you know immediately._

 _Also, the French tutor mentioned in the back-story, Madame Nanette Dufort, is a friend of mine, and has agreed to vouch for you should anyone come asking. Feel free to write should you want to get to know her to make your story plausible, or come and visit me._

 _Let me know how you get on with living arrangements and job searching – I'll need to update your files with the necessary information, at any rate. If you have any trouble, or if money ever becomes an issue, I'm just an owl away and will be more than happy to help._

 _-Yelena_

After reading Yelena's personal note, Hermione redirected her anger to Immigration, rather than the Time Department. She was honestly flattered the Unspeakable had been petitioning her case for the past week, and she finally smiled. _It's not so bad_ , she thought. She had a job and a room waiting for her in Hosgmeade as soon as she was ready, and as long as she had the Time Department on her side, she felt safe and secure in the knowledge that she would be looked after if anything happened. She also felt slightly sorry for the Immigration Department – Unspeakables were not people you wanted to anger, a fact that cheered her up marginally.

Very curious as to the fabricated back-story that would become her identity, Hermione tipped the rest of the contents of the envelope onto the coffee table. She spread everything out messily, finally finding the file labelled _Jean Cecilia Gray – History._ Raising an eyebrow at the chosen middle name, she pulled out the piece of parchment and began to read.

 _Jean Cecilia Gray, born September 19th, 1935, in London, England, to Mr. Walter Gerald Gray (1901 – 1957) and Mrs. Cecilia Katherine Gray, nee Miles (1906 – 1957), is a Muggle-born witch, currently residing near Hogsmeade, Scotland. Her father was an accountant, and her mother worked as his receptionist. She lived in Brighton, England, until the age of three before moving to Paris, France, with her parents, where she stayed until June, 1957. A muggle-born witch, Jean's parents were hesitant to send her to Beauxbattons, and instead opted to pay for private tutoring in the magical arts with the esteemed Madame Nanette Dufort from the age of 11 – 18._

 _A talented student, Jean excelled in her classes, earning top marks in all exams, and then dedicated herself to earning three masteries via correspondence courses._

 _On 2nd of January, 1957, Mr. and Mrs. Gray were killed in an auto-mobile accident, while Jean survived, albeit with many injuries. Once healed, Jean left France and came home to Britain, to try for a new life. On June 30th, 1957, new friend Minerva McGonagall was showing her the Hogwarts grounds when she slipped on rocks at the edge of the Great Lake. Minerva brought her to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where a Healer was on hand to assist immediately._

"Well then," Hermione murmured, now familiar with her new life; an orphan, in Britain, mourning her parents and wanting a fresh start. She figured it was easy enough to stick to – she'd flesh out some of the finer details later; a childhood home, maybe a teenage romance, how her family survived the war, invent some friends from Paris... If she was to meet Minerva's friends later that weekend, she needed to have _something_ to tell them of herself – _and_ she'd need to keep her story straight. She was suddenly quite grateful for the childhood acting classes she had been forced to go to.

Next, she looked at a small booklet on information pertaining to Muggle and Magical Britain, with histories of the Prime Minister, and Minister for Magic, what the financial market was like and major recent events, along with details on the Royal Family and other public figures of both muggle and magical origin. As always, she completely ignored what was going on with Quidditch – she figured that if there was anything remotely important she needed to know, Minerva would tell her, given her slight obsession with the sport.

There were several other books, including one called _The Laws of Time Travel_ which Hermione was already very familiar with from her third year, and one all about Eloise Mintumble's experiments. A pamphlet titled _Protect Yourself_ caught her eye and, with 'constant vigilance' echoing in her mind, she picked it up. It detailed some security measures a time traveller might take, should they not want to be recognised in photographs, like human transfiguration. However, she frowned at how simply it was mentioned – transfiguring bone was complex and easy to fail at, yet glamour charms were merely mentioned as a side-note. _This is a law suit waiting to happen,_ she thought grimly.

Still, she read on about the advantages of changing her appearance. While she rather liked her face these days, the new hairstyle suggestion had merit, especially if she were to work in The Three Broomsticks. She would, inevitably, run into someone she knows from the future, especially if – Merlin forbid – she was still here come September. _Well, I've always wanted to try dark brown hair_ , she thought, throwing the pamphlet aside and trying to picture it instead of her messy light brown curls. If she teamed it with make-up like Minerva's, then she would certainly look very _un_ Hermione-like. She wasn't one for eye-liner and lipstick; it seemed that Jean Gray might have to be.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Wendelin, clearing her throat loudly. "Minerva's visiting again," she announced. "And tapping her foot impatiently, I might add."

"She does that," Hermione laughed as she stood up and, after summoning back the official Time Department from the floor where she threw it and placing it back on the coffee table, she walked over to the door, glad to have some company. Considering Minerva was involved in Jean's back-story, Hermione guessed it would be fair to at least show her what she'd signed up for. "Hey," she said, opening the door, smiling at the Transfiguration Professor, who had bought with her some pastries from the kitchens.

"Hey yourself," Minerva said, as Hermione stepped aside to let her in. "I saw the owl drop off a package for you at the lake. Are you a real person yet?" she asked sardonically, sitting down on the settee and clearing a space on the coffee table for the food.

"I _am_ ," Hermione replied in exaggerated wonder. "Jean Cecilia Gray," she said, with a grin.

Minerva smirked, and held out her hand. "Minerva Isobel McGonagall. Delighted, darling," she laughed, as Hermione shook her hand. "May I?" she asked, noticing the file.

At Hermione's nod, she read over it quickly, eyebrows raising every now and then. By the end, she was frowning slightly, and looked at Hermione apologetically. "Jean, I-" she began, seemingly struggling for words. "Look, I just want you to know, I'm not just your friend because I have to be, or because Yelena and Albus told me to. It may have taken me a day or two to warm up to you, I admit that. But I'm your friend because I _want_ to be. Just so we're clear, yeah?"

Hermione's eyes widened at the declaration – she was touched. She had been worried since the beginning that Minerva was being forced into this out of obligation, so to hear her reassure her so genuinely made her heart melt. "Gotcha," Hermione smiled, trying to keep her voice strong, even though she felt quite emotional as she sat down next to her friend. "You _actually_ like me."

"I do," Minerva confirmed softly. "I may not know your real name, or your history, but your love of transfiguration and Aristotle's Firewhiskey is admirable. And honestly, I can't even fathom what you must be going through, stuck here in what must seem like archaic times, compared to what you're used to," she said, with a shake of her head. "So I'm here for you."

Her smile was beautiful as she reached over to place a hand delicately on Hermione's shoulder, rubbing briefly with her thumb. Her touch was warm, and very comforting. Hermione placed her own hand on top of Minerva's with a murmured, "Thank you, Minerva," still shocked that the other woman would make such a statement.

"You can shorten my name, you know. I wont hex you," she informed her briskly, with a cheeky grin. She quickly grabbed a pastry and leaned back on the couch, looking at the rest of the papers Hermione had left scattered on the table. Her eyes lingered on the official one for a moment. "What did they say?" she asked.

Hermione snorted bitterly. "See for yourself," she said, handing over the offending letter. She had to admit, watching Minerva read it was rather entertaining, and by the end, she was amazed the woman hadn't accidentally set fire to the parchment - she looked so incensed.

"This is batshit," she breathed dangerously, face contorted into an angry scowl. She gaped wordlessly, eyes glaring daggers as she re-read the letter.

Hermione hummed darkly. "I got an Order of fucking Merlin for being in that resistance group," she said, far too calmly. "As did you."

Minerva's eyes snapped towards her. "Well now I'm _personally_ insulted," she said pointedly. She shook her head and, like Hermione, threw the letter away with distaste, before moodily biting into the pastry she held. "I thought that Artlock woman was understanding," she said after a while, sounding rather disappointed. "She _seemed_ caring, especially when she came to get me."

"It's not Yelena," Hermione explained, reaching for the Agent's personal note and handing it to Minerva. "It's Immigration. More fool them really, you don't want to get on the bad side of the Unspeakables," she chuckled.

Minerva snorted. "I really don't want to know what you lot are capable of when angry," she muttered, shaking her head. "You scare the rest of the Ministry enough as it is."

"We know," Hermione said smugly. She laughed as Minerva rolled her eyes.

"And all this is...?" Minerva asked pointing at the rest of the pamphlets.

"Advice on how to live in the 50's," she said. "Things like how to protect yourself from being recognised, should you be caught in a photograph or something," she added, remembering the security pamphlet and handing it to Minerva, considering their chosen Mastery was heavily mentioned. "I don't agree with how casually they suggest using self-transfiguration; it's a disaster waiting to happen if you're not competent in the art, yet here they speak as though just about anyone can do it. A long-term glamour charm is much easier and far less complicated."

The Transfiguration Professor groaned as she read. "Idiots," she scoffed, crinkling her nose. "I think there needs to be a warning added. It's as if they didn't even consult an expert! You need so much control for transfiguring bone, and-" she stopped herself, taking a deep and calming breath. After a moment to relax, she turned to Hermione. "You really need to learn to cut me off when I start ranting, Jean, else I'll never stop. But you need to tell Yelena at this check-in in November. She knows you have a Mastery in the subject, she'll listen to you," she told her. Minerva now had a look in her eye that Hermione knew better than to argue with. It reminded her of home. There was no stopping the woman when she was like this, although to see it on someone so young was almost adorable. "Are you going to do anything to your appearance?" she asked a moment later, cocking her head to the side.

"Dye my hair, I think," Hermione answered. "Maybe wear make-up for a change. Nothing drastic."

"You should do a London trip, then," Minerva suggested firmly. "Muggle London, I mean. The Wizarding world doesn't quite _get it_ when it comes to all of that."

Hermione nodded, leaning back into the settee. "I will," she said. "Maybe while you're visiting your family. It'll give me something to do. Thank you," she added, "You are a wealth of knowledge."

"I do try," she grinned. "Speaking of visiting Caithness, I should probably go and pack," she said, standing up and smoothing over her skirt. "Breakfast in my room tomorrow before I leave? I'll write down a list of shops you should visit while I'm gone."

"You are wonderful, Minnie," Hermione said as they walked over to the portrait door. They said their goodbye's, before Hermione returned to the settee, summoning some parchment, ink and a quill. Since Minerva was visiting her family for a few days, she decided to start getting her life set up, and that required one of her favourite things: a to-do list.

 _Good God_ , she thought as she started writing away, _this really is happening. I actually have to live here._

* * *

 _9th July, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

Hermione didn't sleep well that night. It had finally sunk in that she wasn't going home, and while she could be positive and calm about it around people, being alone was a different story. Whenever she closed her eyes, she'd see her friends, and remember how lax she had become with socialising this year, meaning she hadn't seen them for a proper catch up since Christmas. And now she didn't know when, or if, she'd ever get to see them again. Regret pulsed through her veins, and guilt wound itself in a knot in her stomach. She hadn't even really _missed them_ until now. _Merlin, maybe Ron was right_ , she thought, groaning into her pillow, _my priorities_ _are_ _fucked_.

As it neared 3AM, and her mind was drastically turning towards wondering _why_ the future hadn't come for her yet, despite having had decades to prepare something, she gave up on trying to get any rest. Scowling in the feeble candlelight, she stripped off the long nightgown she had purchased and transfigured it into a pair of long pyjama bottoms and a short sleeve top. If she was going to stroll around the castle in the early hours of the morning, she doubted she'd run into anyone, thus was prepared to risk wearing something not exactly era appropriate.

After getting dressed again, she nervously twisted her wand in her hand as she silently left her guest room. She didn't know where she was going, all she knew was that she needed to walk and clear her head before her mind got the better of her. As she rounded the corner at the end of the guest wing corridor, she headed blindly to the left, wandering aimlessly, keeping her ignited wand tip pointed at the ground as to not wake the portraits.

Hogwarts at night was always an interesting place. Such a big old castle was made rather eerie in complete silence, and Hermione's footsteps echoed around the stone walls for what felt like an eternity. It wasn't too different from the castle she had left behind, although there were some halls she didn't recognise, and a few of the portraits were in different locations. It was strange, she mused as she descended down a staircase, to not be on the lookout for Mrs. Norris, the dreaded cat of the caretaker in her time. The feline had a habit of turning up whenever students went for a night time wander.

After Merlin knows how long, Hermione found herself absent-mindedly scratching the pear in the painting of the fruit bowl near the Hufflepuff basement. While she had no idea what had compelled her to walk to the kitchens, she was slightly peckish, now that she thought of it, and wouldn't mind a cup of tea. Maybe that would make her tired enough to get a few hours of sleep.

To her surprise, however, it appeared as though she wasn't the only one craving a night time snack. As soon as she walked in, she jumped at seeing Albus sitting at a small table, chatting with some of the elves. "Albus!" she all but squeaked, her step faltering. She turned to leave, muttering, "Sorry, I-"

"Ah, Jean," he said happily, brushing some biscuit crumbs from his beard. "Another insomniac, I take it? Please, sit, no need to leave on my account."

She took a few hesitant steps forward to the small circular table Albus was sitting at perched on the edge of the seat, feeling rather uncomfortable. Before she had too long to over-think, however, an elf appeared at her elbow. "Is Miss requiring anything?" the young elf asked, gazing up at her with huge blue eyes.

It took her a moment to register the question. "Um, yes. Tea, please," she managed to say disjointedly, running a hand through her hair. She gave the Professor a small smile, trying to focus on the present instead of the past. Well, the future. She was too tired to even begin to ponder the correct tenses when thinking of her friends. "Thank you, by the way," she said to Albus, after a silence, "For the job in Hogsmeade. Minerva told me it was a collaborative effort." She finally brought her eyes up to meet his as he smiled.

"It was no trouble," Albus said, tapping her knuckles softly. "Have you set an interview with Orla and Brandon yet?"

"The day after...today, I sent them an owl earlier," she said, remembering it was actually morning. "So tomorrow." She have a small chuckle, inwardly cursing herself once more for being awake. She had a long day ahead of her, and had been relying on sleep to get her through. Her go-to muggle energy drinks were, like so many other things she used in her usual life, non-existent at this point in history.

"Good to hear," he replied as the elf brought over a tray of tea for Hermione and a mug of hot chocolate for Albus, as well as some shortbread for them to share. "Thank you, Polly," Albus said to the creature as he took a biscuit. "Fresh out of the oven?" he asked.

"Indeed, Acting Headmaster, sir," Polly said proudly, dipping her head. "We is hoping you and the Miss enjoy."

"I'm sure we will," Hermione said to her, while mulling over Hogwarts history. She had been curious as to why Albus seemed to be running the place when she knew for a fact he wasn't the Headmaster yet. She suddenly remembered that Armando Dippet had a period of ill health during his final ten years at the helm of the school. "Dippet's got Dragon Flu, correct?" she asked Albus once Polly had gone back to the cookers.

Albus nodded. "Indeed. Again, poor fellow," he added gravely. "He assures me he will be fine come September."

Something clicked in Hermione's memory. "Try January," she said slyly. "Trust me. Then he'll be right as rain." _For a while_ , she added in her head. After all, the man was 320.

A bout of laughter sounded from Albus, echoing around the huge room. "Oh, my dear, I could get used to having you around," he admitted quite happily. "How are you settling in?" he asked, tone turning serious. He scrutinised her from across the table over the tops of his fingertips, and she suddenly felt like a student again.

"I..." she began, not quite sure how to answer. "I don't even know. Tonight, it's … I think it's finally hit me that this – _all of this_ – is real. I'm actually in _1957_. It's been a week, and my people haven't come for me yet, and..." she trailed off, closing her eyes and willing tears not to fall. Saying it all out loud was different from internalising it. Saying it made it real, and saying it _to someone_ merely cemented the fact. She huffed, trying to calm down. "Hence my late night wanderings," she added lamely, with a wave of her hand. "Sleep is evasive when I'm this wound up."

"Understandable," he said softly. "This must be – and will most likely continue to be – a very trying time for you." At her nod, he continued, "You are always welcome to come to me if you ever require assistance. And I am a frequent customer at The Three Broomsticks," he added, "So I'll be checking up on you."

Hermione gave a sad smile, before taking a sip of her rapidly cooling tea. "Why are you helping me so much?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes. "You don't know me, you don't know my history. Minerva was right the first day – I _could_ be one of Grindelwald's fanatics," she smirked. While she didn't want to sound accusatory, she knew Albus was skilled in meddling and using events to his advantage, not to mention his proficiency in legilimency. _Although, maybe the war had hardened her a little too much..._

He chuckled. "Miss Gray, I am of the _firm_ belief that you are not the next Vinda Rosier," he said. "And in answer to your question," Albus continued kindly, "To put it simply, it's because I have reason to trust you. While you were unconscious, I pressed into your mind with legilimency – I meant no harm, I swear to you," he added quickly, seeing Hermione's frown. "I ran a few names through your head to gauge your emotional response and based my judgement on that. I must say," he added, sounding impressed, "Your skills in Occlumency are astounding. I doubt I would have been able to press further, even if I had tried."

She should be angry with him. No, she should be furious – she knew _far_ too much about the future, a future that he and his insane plans featured in prominently. Yet try as she might, she could understand why he did it – and, in all honesty, she would have done the same, especially where the safety of Hogwarts was concerned. She was just grateful her walls were damn-near impenetrable. "So when I heard Minerva warn you..."

"I had already assessed you, only she wasn't aware," he finished.

Hermione mulled the words over in her head. Maybe, for once, Albus didn't have an ulterior motive. Maybe he really was just taking pity on the poor girl trapped from the future. She nodded, and gave him a smile. "Well," she said, "Thank you – for everything – the medical care, letting me stay... I mean it. Merlin knows what would have happened should I have appeared _anywhere_ else."

"My thoughts exactly," he murmured, before placing a heating charm on his hot chocolate. "To new found friendships, Jean," he said, raising his mug, "Born from the most unlikeliest of circumstances."

With a smile and a laugh, Hermione raised her tea cup. "To friends, Albus." They drank their beverages, and Hermione decided to ask him another question. "What names?" At his confused look, she clarified, "The ones you ran through my head."

He looked as if he was debating internally for a moment as he took another gulp of hot chocolate. "Gellert Grindelwald," he said, after a moment, "Wilhelmina Tuft, Armando Dippet... The term 'mudblood'-" he visibly winced at having to use the word, "-And then my name, and Minerva's. I admit, I was merely curious about how and why you recognised her."

She swallowed hard, trying to think how her unconscious mind would have reacted. To her, Grindelwald, Tuft and Dippet were names from her modern history books. She guessed the former would have gotten a bit more emotion, given his low opinion of muggles. _Mudblood_ would have incited fury. Minerva...complete adoration, most likely. It was what she thought of Albus that concerned her... Clearly, it mustn't have been too bad for him to help her, but in all honesty, her opinion of the man was rather complicated.

As if sensing what was going through her mind, Albus said, "Mine was 'resigned irritation, but no ill will', if you're curious, Jean. It was your opinion of our dear Minnie that was the eventual deciding factor."

She stared at him silently for a minute, before laughing loudly, feeling her cheeks and neck flush with mild embarrassment. Trying to not look to amused, she took another sip of tea. "Sorry," she attempted to say. "If it's any consolation, this version of you hasn't warranted the slightly negative opinion." In her mind, she could almost hear Minerva's Scottish lilt saying the word _yet._

"Delighted to hear it," Albus smiled, eyes twinkling. "I know Darkness is coming, and even the Light side have internal disagreements, I'm sure," he said knowingly, his gaze piercing. After Hermione's slow nod, he helped himself to another piece of shortbread and changed the subject. "Tell me, Jean, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"London," Hermione said straight away. "There are some things I need to purchase that Hogsmeade simply does not have. And I can't resist doing a little bit of exploring," she grinned.

"I'm glad you're getting out of the castle," he said. "Do be careful on your own, wont you?" She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him and withdrew her wand. He chuckled, and held up his hands in surrender, before continuing; "When you return, the gates wont let you in, but I will be alerted to your presence. I shall come and collect you"

Hermione smiled fondly at him. This younger Albus was certainly growing on her. "Thanks, old man," she said, using Minerva's usual nickname. She snickered as he rolled his eyes, which quickly turned into her yawning. _About bloody time_ , she thought, realising she'd be able to get a few hours before having breakfast with Minerva.

"Get some rest, Jean," Albus said, standing up and leading her to the door, hand in the middle of her back. "I'll see you in the afternoon."

"Good night, Albus," she smiled. "Sorry for interrupting your own late night wanderings, by the way. I have no idea what lead me here."

Albus chuckled. "A most welcome distraction from my own insomnia, I must admit, Jean."

With a final smile and farewell nod, she headed back up to the guest wing, feeling more and more exhausted with each damned staircase. She was asleep as soon as she dived onto her large bed, mind finally clear from the images of her friends.

* * *

 _30th June, 2001_

 _Hermione's Flat, London_

It was nearing midnight when Minerva finally managed to disentangle herself from sociable staff members, and she hurried to Floo over to Hermione's place, as Jean had requested so long ago. Originally, it had been ' _Please_ _feed my cat_ ', however that had changed over the years, eventually becoming, ' _Just keep him, I guess he's_ _ours_ _now_ '. She smiled at the memory of the tender kiss that had followed, absent-mindedly tracing her thin lips with her fingertips.

The flat was tiny and dark when she stepped out of the fire grate. Minerva had only ever been to Hermione's place once, and that was just after the young woman had moved in a year ago. " _Lumos_ ," she murmured, withdrawing her wand from her robes. " _Lumos Maxima_ ," she amended, realising the place was bigger than she remembered as she looked around. It was incredibly tidy, almost as if no one actually lived there, although she spied a few photographs on the walls, and yesterday's _Prophet_ was lying open on the couch. To her left, she heard the sound of a purring cat, and she smiled. At least she wouldn't have to go chasing the half-Kneazle around the house at this late hour.

She let her wand levitate of its own accord as she knelt down to the cat-bed by the fireplace. Crookshanks was sleeping, not even aware that someone was in his owners home unannounced. "Come on, old boy," she whispered, picking him up and holding him in her arms. He yawned, sniffing her critically for a moment, before nuzzling his nose in the crook of her neck, dozing away once more. "You're coming home with me. Your mum wont be back for a while." She ignored the pang of guilt in her stomach at the thought as she reached for her wand and summoned all of his cat necessities to the small coffee table. A variety of food and food dishes sailed through the air from the kitchen, along with a plethora of toys from all corners of the flat. Minerva couldn't help but chuckle – Hermione certainly spoiled her cat. _Much like Jean did with Cora_ , she thought fondly, remembering the beautiful tortoiseshell cat Robbie and Malcolm had bought them.

After shrinking all of Crookshanks' possessions and banishing them into a small bag in her pocket, Minerva stepped back into the fire grate, holding the still-dozing cat close. "Sorry about this, Crookshanks," she muttered. After sprinkling a bit of Floo Powder at her feet, she instructed the fire to take her to the Heads Tower at Hogwarts. She heard Crookshanks growl as they emerged into her private rooms, but he calmed after her murmured apologies and promises that she'd never make him Floo again.

"Greer!" she called, hoping her own cat was still inside the tower. She gently deposited Crookshanks on the couch as she saw her little black cat hop down the stairs, chirping happily at her owners return. Minerva picked her up and, after kissing her head in greeting, sat her down on the couch next to the large ginger addition, glad to see that neither feline seemed to have an issue with the other just yet. To her delight, Greer padded closer to the half-Kneazle and nuzzled his fluffy cheeks with her nose curiously. Smiling, Minerva left them to it and she shrugged out of her robes and banished her boots to her bedroom as she wandered over to her desk, wrinkling her nose at the amount of letters she'd ignored for most of the day. On the top of the pile, however, sat the _Evening Prophet_ and the one letter she _had_ opened – the one from Yelena. She frowned as she re-read it again for what felt like the hundredth time. There were two things that did not sit well with her in that ludicrous purple ink, and _Merlin_ , was she looking forward to demanding an explanation from the Unspeakables about it tomorrow.

"Oh, Jeanie," she sighed, throwing the letter back onto her desk and palming at her weary eyes, "Who the _hell_ did you recognise?" A large art of her wanted to curse them, whoever it was. The more rational part of her wanted to thank them - she knew Jean wouldn't have survived much longer in the past. Each day, more and more cracks had begun appearing in Jean's otherwise perfect 'Madam Gray' façade. It had been terrifying to watch.


	7. Becoming Jean

Chapter 7:

Becoming Jean

 _10th July, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

"Hello. I'm Jean Gray."

Hermione tried not to wince as she practised saying her new name to her new reflection. She barely recognised the woman staring at her in the mirror; the woman with heavily mascaraed lashes and the faintest hint of winged eye-liner, along with ruby red lips and a touch of rouge on her high cheek bones. Gone were the straggly brown curls she was previously known for, as well - yesterday in London she'd had several inches of hair chopped off and dyed to a dark chocolate brown, and had it styled into soft waves that ended just above her shoulders. It was certainly different, dauntingly so.

She chewed her bottom lip as she realised that Hermione Granger was slowly disappearing. Each day, it became more real. Yesterday had been a true test – introducing herself as 'Jean' to the goblins at Gringotts when she went to withdraw some galleons, and managing to hold a conversation about growing up in France with the muggles working in the hair salon. Looking back, she believed she performed adequately, although she knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to start keeping track of all the additional details she invented on the spot. She couldn't help but scoff at the notion. "Is this really what my life is now? A pack of lies?" she asked herself, raising a darkened eyebrow at her reflection critically. Her gaze drifted down from her made-up face to her new sky blue dress, swishing the skirt as she did so. Despite how nice it felt against her stockings, it wasn't her. "I look ridiculous," she decided aloud, before stalking away. Jean Gray was _nothing_ like Hermione Granger.

Which, she grumbled as she sat down on the couch, was _exactly the point_. She wasn't Hermione Granger any more. _Time to get used to it,_ _Jean_ _,_ she told herself. Not wanting to spend any longer dwelling on a hopeless situation, she decided to make a start to Hogsmeade, figuring that walking instead of apparating would kill a bit more time. She reached for the scroll of parchment she'd written a short resume on and placed it in her handbag, before standing and heading for the portrait hole. "Good luck, dearie," Wendelin said cheerily. Hermione gave a small wave of acknowledgement as she headed down the corridor, wincing slightly at the uncomfortable heels she was wearing. She muttered a quick cushioning charm, flicking her wand twice, to provide relief. How Minerva walked in these damned things everyday was beyond her.

By the time she had made it to the gate, she had already withdrawn the plain silver cigarette case from her handbag without even realising. She shook her head at her actions, blaming Minerva entirely for her new-found bad habit as she fished for her lighter. "She can pay for my health insurance when I get home," she grumbled, however her voice was muffled as she held the cigarette between her lips while lighting it. She breathed out a puff of smoke with a sigh, before banishing the lighter back to her bag as she walked the somewhat familiar path to Hogsmeade. It was a beautiful day, she had to admit; perfect summer weather, clear blue skies and a light breeze that carried with it the earthy scent of the Forbidden Forest. It followed her all the way into the quaint Wizarding village, which was once more bustling with people. She saw a couple walking out of Tomes & Scrolls and she suddenly couldn't wait until she could start work – she needed money to buy books, it was as simple as that.

As she approached The Three Broomsticks, she saw that it was full of patrons, pints of butterbeer in hand and the smell of sweet and salty food wafted through the air. She inched her way through the crowd of people near the bar to see Rosmerta in her element; chattering away, smiling widely, unashamedly using her ample cleavage to convince people to leave large tips as she handed over their drinks. She waved as she saw Jean and quickly disentangled herself from the rowdy customers. "Darling! New 'do, I see?" she trilled, leaning over the counter so she wouldn't have to yell over the noise. "My folks are out on the patio, just keep heading straight past the loo's and you'll find a door to the left. Good luck!" She winked, before diving straight back into pouring drinks in quick succession.

Hermione couldn't help but watch, mesmerised. _There's no way in hell I can do that_ , she thought, sighing. Nevertheless, she thanked Rosmerta and followed the young woman's directions, taking the opportunity to get a closer look at the clientele from behind her lashes. There was a mixture of everyone here; young, old and middle-aged, families, people drinking alone, teenagers meeting with their friends... Very diverse, she concluded. Given the light and bright atmosphere, it really came as no surprise. While a part of her was rather dejected at being a _barmaid_ , of all things, she couldn't deny, the place had a happy feel about it. And from the small amount of time she'd spent with Rosmerta, she knew the blonde would make work fun. _Positive thoughts, Hermione_ _Jean_ , she told herself crisply as she rounded the corner to the patio. _Positive thoughts._

Trying not to squint in the midday sun, Hermione smiled at the two middle-aged people sitting at a large oak table next to the stairs to the beer garden. _Orla and Brandon_ , she thought, almost taken aback by how much Rosmerta looked like her mother. The older woman was curvaceous and dressed similarly to her daughter, the only difference being she had black hair. Brandon was the other blonde of the family, and despite his cheery demeanour, Hermione knew that the man was chronically ill – hence the requirement for more help. She hoped she would be able to fulfil that role. "Hello," she said, thanking the Founders that her voice did not betray her nervousness, "I'm Jean Gray. Thank you so much for agreeing to see me."

* * *

To Hermione's immense relief, the interview with Orla – Brandon seemed to be a man of few words – went quickly and before she knew it, the young witch was welcomed into the Broomsticks family. The proprietress gave a tour of the entire dwelling, explaining the history of the pub in great detail, most of which Hermione knew however, as _Jean_ had lived in France, she had to feign ignorance about a lot of things. The room she'd be calling 'home' for the foreseeable future was more than she was expecting; for a simple studio, it was rather spacious with a private bathroom, large wrought iron bed, a couch and two matching armchairs, a coffee table, a small desk and to her delight, a large open fire – perfect for the freezing Scottish winter. She had a quick look out of the bay window to get her bearings and smiled as she took in the view of the local park. _Yes, this will do nicely_ , she thought as she and Orla descended the stairs to the main part of the pub, although part of her hoped it wouldn't be for too long. They future sure was taking its merry time coming to find her.

Once the employment and boarding contract was signed, Hermione found herself agreeing to start on Monday, although she could move in at any point after tomorrow morning. Deciding that she might as well move in sooner rather than later, she said she'd have her things with her tomorrow at 10.30am. "Would you like me to do a trial shift?" she asked as Orla passed her a butterbeer – on the house.

Orla considered for a moment. "If you've got nothing pressing tomorrow afternoon, Rosie could show you the ropes. Albus mentioned you were recovering from a nasty accident, so I didn't want to push," she said kindly.

"Honestly, I'm going out of my mind with all this bedrest the Matron ordered, I'd be glad for something to busy myself with," Hermione grinned, before taking a sip of the sweet drink. She let it roll over her tongue as her eyes drifted around, taking in the locals. The lunch rush had died down, although she was still surprised to see so many people still there.

Copying Hermione, Orla must have sensed her thoughts as she mused, "Yes, Hogsmeade is actually bigger than it looks. There's a lot of smaller clusters of houses in the valley just over the bridge. Rosie should show you around on your day off," she suggested lightly. "It's a wonderful village. While it's nothing like Paris, I do hope you'll find yourself at home here."

"I'm sure I will," Hermione smiled. They toasted to her new job, before Orla shooed her out, telling her to enjoy the sun while it lasted, and to remind Albus Dumbledore to pick up his order of extra-sweet butterbeer. Cringing at the thought of the tooth decay that that particular beverage would cause, she nevertheless promised to pass on the message.

* * *

 _13th July, 1957_

 _Hogsmeade_

Hermione awoke with a start the morning of Edgar Bones' picnic. She'd spent the previous two days trying her hand at the bar after moving her very few meagre belongings into her new room, and truthfully hadn't slept all that well since she moved in. She was missing her home, she was missing her friends, and she was so confused as to why she was still here. Surely the Minerva of 2001, using her intimidating, and occasionally terrifying, Headmistress persona would have forced the Time Department into submission by now? Demanded action, lest they spend the rest of their lives as a rodent of some description? What was taking them so long? She frowned as she considered the possibility that Lord Voldemort's Ministry might have done something to prevent her rescue – she refused to entertain the thought that they simply hadn't invented the technology yet. If they had no way to retrieve her, there's no way they would let her go...right?

She sighed as she stared up at the unfamiliar wooden ceiling. Her nerves were on edge about the gathering today. She'd asked Rosmerta yesterday about the guest list, and had realised that her suspicions were correct – for her, it would be a party of ghosts, people she knew gave their lives in the Wars. How was she to look at a 17 year old Amelia Bones knowing the woman would be killed by Voldemort personally to prevent her from becoming the Minister for Magic? Or the recently married Augusta Longbottom, when the child the woman was currently carrying would end up in St. Mungo's after being tortured to insanity? She had half a mind to owl Minerva and feign an illness, only she knew the other woman was excited for _Jean_ to meet more people.

She shuffled to the bathroom, letting the searing hot water of the shower wash away her worries as she stood, mind wandering over Jean Gray's backstory, as it usually did. She was going to be surrounded by Aurors and Aurors-in-Training, she couldn't afford to slip up in her cover. Even if he was now only her own age, Alastor Moody would probably still be able to see straight through her, even without his magical eye.

As was her new morning ritual, she carefully applied her make-up and brushed her messy curls into controlled waves. Jean's style was starting to grow on her, and the one shift she had worked so far had proven what a bit of lipstick and a flirty wink could do to persuade the patrons to spend their galleons on beer and food. Her inner feminist was horrified, but as Rosmerta had pointed out; "If they really think a barmaid is _actually_ interested in what's in their long-johns, then they deserve to be cheated out of their money." She couldn't really fault that logic; Rosmerta certainly had some interesting, if rather crass ways of viewing the world around her.

She quickly got dressed, slipping on a long navy blue skirt and simple white blouse – complete with anti-staining charms woven into the fabric – along with her black baby doll shoes. _So fucking 50's_ , she thought, rolling her eyes at her reflection before heading downstairs. As she'd slept late, she'd have time for a quite bite to eat before she and Rosmerta would clean the dining area in preparation for lunch. Despite Orla telling her that she didn't officially start until Monday, Hermione found herself too bored to just do nothing so she was allowed to shadow the proprietress' daughter to get comfortable with her job.

After stealing a few hotcakes from the chef – a young man named Luke Jones who Hermione found to be rather entertaining company so far – and eating them quickly, she and Rosmerta made fast work of the cleaning and table setting. Hermione was still learning the hospitality spells and charms but was getting the hang of it, although Rosmerta said that there was no way she'd have a future as a dishwasher in the kitchens. Scourgifying forks was rather fiddly, and try as she might, she was struggling to get the inside of the prongs perfectly clean. "You're clearly designed for a higher station in life," Rosmerta had commented dryly, taking a cloth from the belt of her white and blue chequered dress and cleaning the fork herself.

Before she knew it, they were shrinking the cases of beer and firewhiskey Edgar had ordered and, after stashing them in a monogrammed _Broomsticks_ delivery box, hurried out to the apparation point, where Minerva was waiting for them – _does she ever not dress impeccably?_ Hermione thought, seeing the woman's maroon sheath – along with her two brothers. Brothers who were currently bickering while Minerva puffed on a cigarette, however she looked up at the new arrivals and promptly gasped. "Jeanie, your _hair_!" she trilled.

"You like?" Hermione asked, giving a twirl, feeling utterly ridiculous.

"Oh, I _love_."

Rosmerta laughed. "I nearly didn't recognise her when she came in," she said, hugging Minerva. "Robbie, Malcolm, good to see you little devils."

"Hey, Ros," they both said, and Hermione noticed that the younger one was blushing.

Minerva elbowed him and cleared her throat pointedly. "And boys, this is Miss Jean Gray," she said, gesturing to Hermione. "Jeanie, this is Robert-" the younger, blond McGonagall waved, "And Malcolm, my two younger brothers." Malcolm offered his hand, which Hermione gladly shook. Of the two, he was the one who most looked like his sister; very tall, dark hair and big green eyes, while Robert was stockier than his siblings, although they all shared the same facial features.

"Lovely to meet you both," Hermione smiled. "I hear from your sister that you're both quite the troublemakers?"

Both puffed their chests out, making Rosmerta laugh and Minerva roll her eyes. "That we are, Miss Gray," Robert said proudly, saluting. "So was Minnie Mouse once."

"Then she became a Professor," Malcolm said sombrely. "Tragic day for us all..."

Hermione grinned at Minerva, who looked decidedly unimpressed with her siblings. "Minnie Mouse, huh?" Hermione asked, cocking an eyebrow at the nickname. Oh, was she going to have fun talking to Older Minerva when she was home...

"Repeat it again, at any point in time, Jean Gray, and I'll hex you," Minerva said sweetly, and Hermione couldn't help but be impressed with how easily she slipped in a warning for the future. "We should get going. Ros, you side-along Jean and I'll take these two?"

"Fine by me," Romerta said, offering her arm to Jean. "See you three in a moment!"

After disappatating from Hogsmeade, Hermione found herself standing in front of a rather ornate yet rusted gate. Just beyond it, she could make out the beginnings of a stone Tudor manor behind a hedge.

A loud crack sounded from behind Hermione and Rosmerta, announcing the arrival of the McGonagall siblings. Minerva disentangled herself from her brothers and strode forward, placing her hand on the lock of the gate. It glowed gold, before swinging open, allowing them entry to the estate. Behind her, Hermione could hear appreciative murmurings from Robert and Malcolm before they all walked down the pebbled drive. As they rounded the hedge, Hermione was able to see, in full, the grandeur of the Bones estate. The gardens were perfectly manicured, and the various fountains were of different magical creatures. Then there was the manor itself, made of grey stone, the occasional brick containing delightfully intricate carvings. The south wall was covered in ivy, and climbing roses were surrounding the wooden window frames.

"Stunning, isn't it?" Minerva murmured. "Oh, to be a wealthy pureblood."

"Quite," Hermione replied, although she knew that, in the future, being a wealthy pureblood wasn't necessarily a good thing – especially if you chose the 'Light' side. She gulped, remembering what outright horrors would take place in this very house twice over, and it was only Minerva tugging on her arm that broke her out of her reprieve. She brought her eyes to meet her friends green ones, only to find them clouded with concern. "I'm fine, don't worry," she said thickly, and while Minerva looked all but convinced, didn't press the point. Given the dark look that passed across her pale face, though, Hermione had a feeling Minerva guessed it was something to do with the future – and not necessarily anything good. _Don't meddle, don't meddle, don't meddle_ , she repeated to herself as they walked up to the front door.

Minerva knocked, and the door swung open. On the threshold was the younger version of a man Hermione had seen in the old group Order photograph – Edgar Bones, with long sandy hair, wide grin and kind green eyes. "McGonagalls! Ros! And Alcohol!" he greeted loudly, "My favourite things!"

Minerva laughed, before embracing him and kissing his cheek. "Eddie, darling, good to see you," she said as they stepped into the large entryway. "May I present Jean Gray? Jeanie – Eddie."

"Lovely to meet you," Hermione said graciously, "And thank you for the invite, I do so appreciate it."

"No problem at all, Miss Gray," Edgar said, offering his hand to Hermione. "Wonderful to put a pretty face to the pretty name," he grinned. "Welcome to my humble abode," he added, bowing.

Rosmerta snorted. "Your _parents'_ humble abode," she said, giving him the box of shrunken drinks. "Good to see you, darling."

"Ros, thank you," he said, kissing her cheek. "And the McGee brothers! How are you, lads? Driving your sister barmy, I hope?"

While Edgar, Robert, Malcolm and Rosmerta chatted, Minerva pulled Hermione aside. "I've told a few people – and they've since spread the word – to not ask you much about your past as your parents just died and it's been difficult for you," she whispered. "Easier than faking a complete back-story, no?"

Hermione let out the breath she had unknowingly been holding in. "Thank you," she whispered back, "I admit, I was worried."

"Gandalf said as much," Minerva explained, before linking her arm through Hermione's to follow their little group through the huge house. "Are you sure you're well? You went frightfully pale before."

Hermione sighed. "Nothing a shot of firewhiskey wont fix," she said. _Oh, if only that was the truth._ She didn't have time to dwell, however, as they had made it out to the back garden where a large tent had been erected, as well as quidditch hoops further afield. Again, the grounds were pristine and the pool looked heavenly in the summer heat. There was even a pond beyond the quidditch pitch, which had some fishing rods set up. "Merlin, this all looks amazing," she breathed, looking around. She could see a game of quidditch was just about to start, judging by amount of people milling around the makeshift pitch, brooms in hand.

"Up for a spot of flying, Minnie?" Edgar asked, squeezing himself between the two witches, placing his arms around their shoulders. "It's No-Rules," he added in a sing-song voice.

Minerva grinned, and was about to reply when Robert caught up to them. "No-Rules Quidditch, you say, Edgar?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did you hear that, brother?"

"Indeed I did, Robbie," Malcolm confirmed, looking positively delighted as they reached the pitch. "Sister, dear, what say you to showing off the McGonagall quidditch genes?"

Smirking, Minerva got her wand from her pocket and altered her fitted sheath dress to have a looser skirt. "I say we should get started. Do you play, Jean?" she asked, as Edgar threw the siblings some brooms.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm quite happy on the ground, thank you very much," she grinned. The grin only grew at Minerva's disbelieving expression.

Minerva looked to be about to say something when someone in the group up ahead shouted, "New arrivals!" Soon a chorus of shouts came, people calling out to Minerva, Robert, Malcolm and Rosmerta, before running over to hug them. Hermione watched from a few feet away, content with staying out of the stampede and stealing some glances at the people milling around. While she didn't recognise anyone specifically, she _did_ recognise certain features of a few people and wondered if she knew their children, or grandchildren in the future.

Before she knew it, Minerva had reached over and dragged her into the rabble. "May I introduce to you all, my new friend, Jean Gray," she announced, grinning at Hermione's wide-eyed expression. "She's new here – you should all be on your best behaviour for at least 15 minutes. Jean, this is...everyone."

Despite being rather daunted by being put in the spotlight, Hermione managed a smile. "Hi," she said, in a voice that sounded so much unlike her own. She focused on inhabiting the barmaid persona – hopefully that would help her survive so much social interaction. From the back of the group, she finally saw someone she recognised – Alastor – give a cheery wave.

A blonde woman already dressed in quidditch gear near the front of the group looked from Minerva to Hermione. "Tell me, Miss Gray, do you believe in the inalienable right to party? Because that's the one requirement we have here," she said, offering her hand amidst the sound of several others agreeing that it was important she understand their core belief.

 _Gods, where have I heard that before?_ Hermione thought, mind in a flurry trying to place it. "Undoubtedly," she answered quickly, shaking the offered hand, which earned her a welcoming smile in return. It was Minerva's fond groan of "Mill _yyy_ ," that finally pieced it all together for Hermione. _Millicent Bagnold. Future British Minister For Magic._ From what literature Hermione recalled of the end of the First Wizarding War, Minister Bagnold had used the 'inalienable right to party' phrase to defend the celebrations that broke the International Wizarding Statute of Secrecy at Voldemort's defeat in 1981. Her head was swimming once more, and she longed for a seat, or a drink.

"Wait, _Minerva_ made a _friend_?" a smirking red-head asked mockingly over Millicent, earning a few chuckles. " _Willingly_?"

Minerva rolled her eyes. "It's been known to happen on occasion," she sniffed. "And don't get used to the first name, Miss Bones," she added, pointing to the girl, "It'll be back to _Professor McGonagall_ in six weeks."

"Or she'll take points off you again, Amelia," Robert drawled, shooting his sister a wink.

It was only then Hermione realised why the red-head looked slightly familiar – only she'd only ever seen pictures of her with grey streaked through the red curls and a monocle over her left eye. Amelia Bones. While she'd never met the formidable Madam Bones, she'd heard all the stories – dueling champion, highest kill-count of a female Auror, youngest female Department Head, and sadly, the first politician assassinated at the dawn of the Second War. Yet here she was, looking barely older than 17 and very much alive.

While Hermione was getting over her internal shock, an indignant gasp came from Edgar, and from what sounded like two other people. "You took points from _Hufflepuff_?!" Edgar demanded in mock outrage, his face twisted into a dramatic snarl. "What – I – how _could_ you? You – you demon!"

"And Ravenclaw, Eddie, don't get too upset," Malcolm told him, sounding as if he were at a funeral. Millicent and another girl who looked rather familiar both looked horrified at this.

" _And_ Gryffindor," Robert added sourly. "She takes more points if you protest it, too!" Hermione had a feeling the younger McGonagall had been responsible for that particular infraction. She saw Minerva give an indifferent shrug, and gave a soft chuckle herself. Professor McGonagall had, after all, taken 150 points of Hermione and her friends in their first year – more than Professor Snape ever had. She still cringed at the memory.

At Robert's new revelation, Edgar gave Minerva a pointed look. " _Please_ tell me you also take points of the Slytherins, too."

Silence fell at the question, and Minerva grinned. "Oh, I _particularly_ enjoy taking points off Slytherin," she purred. After a rather sinister chuckle, she raised an eyebrow at the group, summoning over a broomstick. "Now, were we, or were we not, about to start playing No-Rules Quidditch, hmm?"

Hermione watched as most of the group prepared themselves for the match, and she was almost dreading the eventual game. Quidditch, in her eyes, was dangerous enough as it was, but _no rules_? She shuddered to think of what injuries could be sustained with that sort of anarchy. Inalienable right to party, indeed. However, if her suspicions of this group of friends was correct – for out of everyone she'd met so far, or recognised, they were well known in her time for being extremely successful in their respective fields – she was sure there would be some Healers thrown into the mix somewhere. She just hoped they would have the sense to not take to the air.

"Since you're not playing-" Minerva's voice roused Hermione from her thoughts, "I got you that shot of firewhiskey, because you went all pale again before, darling." She handed over the glass of amber liquid, and Hermione threw it back gladly.

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, feeling slightly better. She then narrowed her eyes at Minerva. "Question: Millicent Bagnold – _Milly_? Is she your...?"

After looking around quickly, Minerva nodded. "My partner, yes. Wait-" she narrowed her own eyes suspiciously, "She didn't tell you her name, nor did I... How do you know her?!" A look of wonder crossed Minerva's features briefly, and Hermione had to resist the urge to laugh.

"I'm not about to spoil the future, dear," she whispered. "You'll just have to _wait and see_." She smiled innocently at Minerva's pout. _Merlin, Minerva's dating the future Minister for Magic_ , she mused to herself, which in turn made her realise that their relationship wasn't going to last; Millicent had a husband. Once more, Hermione despised the situation she found herself in, but quickly forced the thoughts from her mind for the moment. _You're here to have fun_ , she reminded herself.

With a roll of her green eyes at Hermione's refusal to divulge, Minerva turned and waved at a small group of people by the hedge next to the pitch. "Pops!" she called, beckoning them over, "Titus, Ingrid! Come over here!" As they neared, she explained to them, "Jean doesn't play, so she can join you in laughing at us."

The girl leading them, one who Hermione thought looked vaguely familiar, smiled in greeting. "Oh, thank Merlin you have some sense about you," she said, grinning. "Please impart your belief's on Min, I beg of you; I've tried and failed for 10 years."

The lone male of the group – Titus, Hermione assumed – laughed. "Give it up, Pops, you really think Minerva will take advice?"

Minerva snickered. "Indeed, Mr. Marchbanks. If you will excuse me, I have a quaffle to steal." She grinned, before heading back to the game.

Sighing, the girl they called Pops said, "Good point, Titus. Well, Jean, since Minerva was too focused on quidditch to introduce us – I'm Poppy Pomfrey," she said, with a small wave of her hand.

 _Merlin's frilly pantaloons, Madam Pomfrey!_ Hermione was mentally shouting, eyes drinking in the younger version of the Hogwarts matron from her time. With big doe eyes, coiffed dark brown hair and, like so many other girls, painted red lips, she was quite pretty.

"And this is Titus Marchbanks," Poppy continued, "And this is the lovely Ingrid Scrimgeour," she finished, introducing the final woman.

 _A relation to Rufus Scrimgeour, for sure_ , Hermione thought, noticing how similar Ingrid was to her memory of the late Minister for Magic; tall, lanky with copper hair and aristocratic features. "Lovely to meet you all. You don't play?" she asked, referencing the game.

Titus, a short, stocky man, laughed and shook his head. "We're the Healers. Someone's got to look after these idiots when they crash and-" he cut off and looked to the air. Hermione, Poppy and Ingrid followed suit, only to see what looked like a wrestling match on brooms taking place between two players, much to the amusement of the other fliers. The game seemed to stop while the two fliers fought it out, their shouts muffled by the fact they both were fighting to get the other into a headlock. Hermione couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in disbelief at the display.

"I hate Edgar's quidditch matches," Ingrid groaned, lazily pointing her wand at the pitch and casting a cushioning charm. "That should prevent a death, at least." Another flick of her wand, and she'd summoned over four lemonades from the buffet table. "So Jean, tell us a bit about yourself," she said kindly, taking a seat on the ground and patting the grass next to her. "We don't bite."

"It goes against our Oath," Poppy grinned.

* * *

 _1st July, 2001_

 _Ministry of Magic_

The Ministry was rather quiet as Minerva stalked through, although she nodded occasionally if someone recognised her, but made no effort to stop. With little sleep the night before, thanks to a dark swirl of guilt and regret keeping her awake, she was in little mood to dally and was rather keen on hearing the latest from Kingsley. As she rounded the corner to his office, she was surprised to find him already waiting for her in the reception area, looking rather stressed. "Good morning, Minister," she greeted, removing her pointed hat.

"Minerva," he smiled, appearing to relax slightly at seeing her. "All the students are on their way home safely, I take it?"

"Indeed, I came here the moment the train left the station," she confirmed. "Shall we?" she asked, indicating his office, however to her surprise, he shook his head, handing her a piece of parchment with familiar purple ink.

 _Minister,_

 _The Time Department requests your presence at your earliest convenience. Enclosed is a map, should you require one._

 _-S. Croaker_

"I assumed you would want in on this meeting, so I thought I would wait for you," Kingsley said, leading the way to the lifts.

"Wise choice," Minerva replied coolly. She laughed as Kingsley looked down at the map the Department had sent and banished it with her wand. "I know the way. Including the short-cut."

Under his breath, he muttered extremely quietly, "Of course she bloody does."

"I heard that," she informed him as the doors to the lift clanged shut behind them. They grinned at each other, and for a moment, Minerva relaxed. _Answers_ , she prayed to whatever deity or immortal was listening, _please let me get answers today._

"Several of the Ministerial Portraits have been chattering," he remarked, sounding far too casual for Minerva's liking. "Ignatius Tuft and Nobby Leech were having quite the argument this morning over _Madam Gray._ And I had an interesting conversation with Rufus Scrimgeour last night after you left..."

The corners of Minerva's mouth twitched upwards. "You did, did you?" she asked. "Be grateful Millicent and Fudge are both still alive, otherwise _their_ portraits would be thrown into the mix. And _that_ would be a recipe for disaster."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows as Minerva lead him out of the lift and through the twisted corridors of Level 9. "Just what _did_ Hermione get up to in the past, Minerva?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "These are big names who knew her."

"You mean Tuft and Leech?" Minerva asked, seeking clarification. At Kingsley's nod, she decided to give him some information to stew over. "Jean's essentially the reason Tuft got ousted and Nobby got elected; naturally, Tuft utterly despised her," she said, pushing open the door to the Time Department. "Suffice it to say...she got up to a great deal of things."

* * *

AN: Sorry for the month between updates! I've been battling health issues, and medication side-effects are making life hell and will be for a while yet. But I'm working on the next chapter now, so hopefully it wont be too long of a wait for the next update. Hope you're all well! xo


	8. A Party of Ghosts

Chapter 8:

A Party of Ghosts

 _13th July, 1957_

 _Bones Estate, Cornwall_

Watching a game of No-Rules Quidditch was much like watching the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Hermione decided as yet another keeper had been felled by a bludger; as each second went on, it was inevitable to end in nothing but disaster. The large group of players had thinned out considerably, either from injury or of their own accord; the small group of Healers with only Hermione and an unimpressed Augusta Longbottom for company had changed to a slightly larger group of spectators. Hermione had to admit, all three McGonagall's were incredible on brooms; she hadn't even seen Harry, or Viktor, for that matter, do some of the tricks and moves the three Scottish siblings were capable of. _Although_ , she reminded herself, _this game has no rules; said moves were probably illegal._ Once upon a time, she'd never think Minerva capable of doing anything so unseemly, but now? She'd witnessed the cunning, almost _Slytherin_ side of the woman and it made her reassess everything about how well she truly knew the Minerva of her time. Maybe they weren't as close as she'd thought.

"Ahh! He's got it! Robbie's got the snitch!"

Hermione wasn't sure which woman it was to her left that squealed, but her eyes focused once more on the pitch to see young Robert zooming around, doing a victory lap with just the hint of delicate white wings visible from between his clenched fingers. He looked rather pleased with himself as he, his brother and sister, and the rest of their team mates, all landed on the ground in a mass of bodies and broomsticks. Minerva, however, quickly disentangled herself from the throng of people with a slightly upturned nose at the spectacle and returned her dress to its original form seamlessly.

A loud clearing of the throat announced a panting Edgar's _sonorus_ charm. "New rule for No-Rules Quidditch," he puffed. After pausing for silence, he smirked directly at Minerva. "No more than 2 McGonagall's on a team. It's ethically unfair otherwise." Hermione wasn't sure, but she was fairly certain that Edgar's subsequent yelp – his voice still magnified – was Minerva throwing a silent stinging jinx at him, as she was the only other person with her wand out.

Shaking her head at the continued bickering between teams, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see Alastor had weaved his way to her side, grinning at her. He was wearing muggle attire – slacks and a linen shirt, and she had to admit, young and intact Moody was quite...handsome? In a boy-next-door kind of way? _Oh, God, stop it, he's dead_ , she reminded herself. "Miss Gray," he greeted, "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."

Hermione cringed as she remembered how ill she had been at the Ministry, covered in scratches and rather frail from her head injury. "Yes, I'm sure I looked quite the fright," she agreed. "I do hope that hasn't spoiled your opinion of me."

"Not at all," he said, emphasising each word. "Enjoying yourself so far? Eddie and Min's competitive streaks haven't frightened you off? Really, you'd think they'd have grown out of it once they'd graduated..."

Laughing, Hermione shook her head. "No, it's all rather amusing. A nice break, I'd imagine, from such straight-laced career choices. They've been friends for a long while, I take it?"

"Since their first week at Hogwarts," Alastor confirmed. "Both top of their classes, trying to out-do each other. Then they were both on their quidditch teams by their second year, too, which just added to their friendly rivalry. Malcolm and Amelia are the same – it's rather amusing watching from the sidelines," he chuckled.

While they were talking, the group was slowly meandering towards the buffet tent which had a mammoth sized picnic blanket set up on the grass beneath. Alastor offered his arm – Hermione was still getting used to the chivalrous nature of 1950's society – as she encouraged him to talk about his Auror training, going into detail of the kind of evasion techniques he'd recently been studying. To Hermione, it was all a bit outdated, but for Alastor, these survival tips were what a decade of studying the battles of the Grindelwald War had lead the Head Aurors to devise should another Dark Lord try to take over. "You can see what we're capable of when Eddie sets up the duelling ring – we usually always have a few spars after lunch. If you don't play Quidditch, please tell me you at least duel," he teased her as they dished up some food from the buffet; Alastor opting for meatloaf and potato salad, while Hermione picked out a few of the sandwiches she thought her uneasy stomach could handle, as well as a glass of wine.

"I duel, although I think my style differs vastly from yours," she said, choosing her words carefully. "How do you go about friendly spars? Power show-off or quick to disarm?" While she was hesitant about displaying her skills in the arena, she was yearning for a good magical workout with someone who might be able to challenge her. Already, her eyes glanced over the grass and gardens, trying to see how she could use the location to her advantage should she decide to give it a go. Combining transfiguration and charms was her favourite way to play with her opponent, especially when there were so many blades of grass at their feet... Even a basic growing charm with enough power could send the grass to wrap around their legs, pulling them to the ground, and then it would take mere seconds for them to be completely restrained. She felt her magic surge just thinking about it.

"Days like this? Show off, for sure," he said. "Quite looking forward to it, myself. I'm the class above Ed, but he's convinced he'll win against me. Time to knock him down a peg or two."

"Well, I certainly look forward to it," Hermione smiled, finally spotting Minerva beckoning her over to the other side of the tent to sit down. She was already sitting with Millicent, Edgar, Amelia, Poppy, Robert and Malcolm, as well as a younger boy Hermione hadn't met. While he didn't quite look Hogwarts age, he didn't appear to be far off. He also carried the distinct look of being a Bones – red hair, blue eyes and a strong jaw. It took her a moment to realise that this young boy must be Susan's father, and she quickly hid her discomfort. Of the three siblings, he was the only one alive in her time; he and Susan were the only Bones' left at all.

Minerva grinned at them as they approached. "Taking good care of her, I hope, Alastor?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as they sat down, eyes flickering over the two of them.

"You know me, Minnie," he said assuredly, "Perfect gentleman. I was telling her about the duelling."

Minerva narrowed her eyes. "Uh huh," she replied sceptically, however she was barely heard over Edgar asking Alastor pointedly, "And how you're going to lose dreadfully, Moody?"

"In your _dreams_ , Bonesy," Alastor informed him with a shake of his head.

Hermione, Minerva and Amelia all caught each other's eyes as Edgar and Alastor started thhrowing vague insults and insinuations back and forth. Shaking her head, Hermione quickly took a sip wine, and started picking at the various sandwiches she had chosen from the buffet, catching the end of the conversation she and Alastor had arrived in on; Amelia, Robert and Malcolm trying – and failing – to convince Minerva to tell them who the new quidditch captains were for the forthcoming school year. Her superior and knowing smirk was simply maddening to the school students as she refused to divulge, claiming that even if she wanted to tell them, she couldn't, as it was all confidential.

After receiving a short, pleading look from Minerva, Millicent quickly diverted the topic to the upcoming Quidditch World Cup instead, which even broke Edgar and Alastor out of their verbal battle. _Why do I always end up befriending quidditch fanatics?_ Hermione wondered idly as the classic taunting between England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales started up round her. She tried not to roll her eyes as she was unwittingly brought into the conversation by Robert asking, "What team do you support, Miss Gray?"

Hermione, who at that moment had decided she needed a cigarette, looked up once she'd pressed a lit one to her lips. "France, of course," she said through a puff of smoke. "I've lived there most of my life, after all. Although I'm really not one for sports."

"But you live in _Scotland_ now," Malcolm pointed out, with a smirk identical to that of his sister's.

"I still support France," she replied definitively, sticking to the Jean Gray cover story of being a Frenchwoman. "And you'll not be changing my mind, Mr. McGonagall. Nor you, Mr. Moody," she added, noticing Alastor about to interject. She smirked at him from beneath her lashes, before returning to her sandwiches, letting the conversation carry on around her until Edgar roped Alastor into helping him set up the duelling arena.

"Can I come too, Eddie?!" the littlest Bones sibling asked hopefully, running up to his brother.

Edgar laughed, putting his arm around him. "'Course you can, Johnny boy! This'll be your picnic one day, you need to learn how it's done!"

Hermione hid her smile behind her glass of wine; she thought Johnny was rather adorable, gazing up at Edgar like he was God. It was almost painful seeing how happy everyone was here.

"Please refrain from any unnecessary stupidity!" Poppy called out dryly as they left, rolling her eyes. "First quidditch, now this," she muttered, shooting a knowing smile at Hermione. During the match, the trainee Healer and her two classmates had told Hermione of the many unique and often times ridiculous injuries and predicaments Edgar and his friends had been involved with, some of which put even Fred and George Weasley to shame. "Thank Merlin you're responsible, Amelia," Poppy added to the redhead sitting beside her. "Let's hope little Johnny follows in _your_ footsteps."

* * *

It had been an interesting day so far, Hermione mused, smoking another cigarette as she sat on the grass watching Percius McLaggan and Gerald McKinnon duel. One moment, she felt she was _Jean_ , simply enjoying meeting people and relaxing with good company and interesting conversation, but then _Hermione_ would catch sight of Alastor, or Amelia, and she would remember that she was surrounded by people who really should be nothing more than ghosts to her. Even hearing Minerva gossiping with her friends about their former classmates was difficult to listen to – so many familiar last names from now-defunct lines. In her world, there were no more Black's, no more Prewett's, not even a Crouch, yet here, the names were quite common. She took another sip of her pain relief and calming drought, clapping politely as McKinnon won over McLaggan – a fact she was actually grateful for, given her less than stellar experience with the Cormac McLaggan when she was in her sixth year.

Truth be told, Hermione wasn't all that impressed by the fighting styles she'd witnessed so far – even Alastor was rather underwhelming compared to what she'd witnessed him capable of. Once more, she was reminded just how far away she was from home – the disciplines the Auror's were currently learning were all rather outdated and basic. _Well, they've got 13 years to change before Voldemort becomes a recognised threat_ , she thought grimly, _hopefully they'll have bettered their techniques by then._ To them, however, the thought of another Dark Lord rising would seem rather impossible in this blissful, Grindelwald-free world. The 50's and 60's were a time of relative peace, most of the drama stemming from politics and the modernisation of the Wizengamot...giving Tom Riddle the freedom to amass a following, completely unnoticed by all but-

 _Stop it_ , she told herself, focusing once more on the duels. Clenching her jaw, she got back to analysing the fighting styles. While clearly rather powerful, and very quick with a wand, Hermione noticed Edgar Bones was exceedingly predictable, and switched between five defensive spells to disarm quickly. She wondered idly how he would fare with an opponent capable of wandless magic, or one who used transfiguration or charms to cause distraction instead of harm.

Another thing she'd noticed of the many Aurors – well, Aurors-in-training – was that they were hesitant to duel women. While she knew it was purely a fact of the era, all Hermione needed to do was think of Bellatrix Lestrange to know that women were just as deadly as men. If Aurors couldn't bring themselves to throw a _stupefy_ or an _incarcerous_ at a criminal based on their gender, then they were failing at their jobs.

"You have a rather serious look on your face, Jean Gray," Minerva said, taking a seat on the grass next to Hermione.

Hermione gave a tight smile. "Just...enjoying the show," she said, watching Edgar and Ingrid Scrimgeour duel. With Edgar's hesitation, he and the Healer were rather evenly matched.

"Not pleased with what you see?" Minerva asked, clearly noticing Hermione's slight frown and narrowed eyes.

"Mmm," Hermione said distractedly. "These Aurors...they're all so predictable. Chivalry is a fault when it comes to law enforcement. And honestly, anyone with a slightly different style to this-" she gestured at the two duellers, "Would truly upend them."

"Someone like you?" There was a hint of amusement dancing in Minerva's tone, and when Hermione turned to look at her, she saw a mischievous gleam in her green eyes.

Laughing at Minerva's ever-growing grin, she said, "Yes, someone like me. I'd love to show them but..." she trailed off, knowing that if she did, it would most likely lead to questions that she wasn't prepared for.

"But...?" Minerva prompted pointedly, just as Edgar bested Ingrid with a tripping jinx, sending her wand flying as she landed on the ground. _Just because you've lost your wand doesn't mean it's over_ , she wanted to yell at the young woman.

Hermione shook her head and sighed. "Too many questions. No one here fights like me. It would be odd."

"Details, details," Minerva said dismissively with a wave of her hand. "Just say, _'eet'z 'ow zee French fight_ '. Besides," she continued, ceasing her ridiculous accent, "I brought you here to have _fun_ , darling, and I know you love duelling; it'll relax you. Just give it a go, it'll be _fine_ , I promise." Her green eyes stared imploringly into Hermione's until the latter relented.

Still, Hermione tried one more argument. "And when someone inevitably asks who trained me? What do I say?"

Minerva thought for a moment. "That your Master – or Mistress – prefers to remain anonymous, or some bullshit story like that," she answered simply, before looking at Hermione once more and frowning. "Is the person who taught you here today? Is that why you're so concerned?" she asked, in a small voice.

"Yes," Hermione said quietly. _I'm talking to her right fucking now_ , she finished in her head. "And I know for a fact that they're still basically a sapling in terms of their defensive skills at present," she added, remembering Minerva's brief duel with Poppy she'd seen earlier. If she hadn't known who held the fir wand, she'd never have guessed what sort of a warrior Minerva would turn into in 40 years. Her current footwork was truly shocking, and Hermione had resisted the urge to yell in advice, as Minerva had done for her in her 6th year when she'd asked the older witch to train her for the inevitable war. It seemed that Minerva was yet another who only had 13 years to up their skill level.

" _Then_ they'll have no idea you're ripping off their technique," she grinned, and before Hermione could stop her, she shouted, "Eddie! You versus Jean, what say you?"

Edgar jogged over, looking at both women sceptically. "You're sure? I mean, you can if you want, Jean, but surely Ingrid or Poppy would be a safer choice-?"

"No, no, you'll do," Minerva interrupted airily. "Please, Eddie, she hasn't found a _decent_ sparring partner since leaving Paris."

Hermione tried not to laugh as she realised that Minerva was just as good at making up parts of the Jean Gray back-story as she was; she was so smooth and effortless about it. She made a mental note to add Minerva's new information to her notebook back in her room, before nodding in agreement.

Edgar pursed his lips. "Only if you're sure, Jean. Don't let Minnie here push you into something you're not ready for. She's quite stubborn once she gets an idea in her head," he teased, causing Minerva to give a far too innocent smile.

She knew he was trying to be nice, but part of Hermione was angry that he had underestimated her so. She wanted to remind his that you never knew who was at the other end of the wand, and that appearances were deceiving, but thought better of it. "That she is," Hermione agreed fondly of Minerva. "I'm game if you are, Edgar," she said in regards to his question, standing up and withdrawing her wand. "Please, I implore you to give me your worst, I need a decent workout." She couldn't help but smile as she saw his internal conflict. _Good_ , she thought, _times need to change._

"Very well," he said. "The rules are fairly simple," he continued, leading her to the warded arena, "No Unforgivables, or anything that could result in death, or a trip to St. Mungo's. Other than that, fair game, really. Last chance to back out, Miss Gray – I wont judge," he added kindly.

Hermione sniffed. "Chivalry will get you nowhere, Mr. Bones," she informed him. She raised her wand, and although rather bemused, he did the same, before they both swooped them down, then bowed to each other. As she turned to pace to her side of the court, she noticed just how many people were attending and suddenly felt rather self-conscious. _Damn you, Minerva_ , she thought bitterly, _you and your bloody big green eyes that just have a_ _way_ _of getting people to do your bidding._

She replayed her analysis of Edgar's fighting style in her mind. In every fight she'd seen, bar one, he started with a straight disarming spell, and she was going to use that to her advantage. No one, so far, had fought back wandlessly once they were disarmed, simply conceding defeat. Two simple words were all it would take to bring them back into the duel, and Hermione had been shocked to see them give up so easily – even the Aurors present hadn't tried summoning their wands back after they'd been disarmed today. With that in mind, she turned to face him, intent on not only teaching him a thing or two, but everyone else watching, as well. She briefly caught sight of Minerva talking to Amelia, who was looking positively delighted at what was about to take place.

 _And let the dance begin_ , she thought, as Alastor – refereeing this duel – started counting down from, "Three!". She rolled her vine wand between her thumb and first two fingers, letting her magic connect with it. "Two!" She readied herself to be hit by Edgar's disarming spell, hoping her prediction and subsequent plan would work. "One!"

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Edgar shouted from the other end of the arena as soon as Alastor had finished the countdown.

A moment later, Hermione hadn't retaliated and her wand was wrenched upwards from her hand. As it reached its arc 12 feet in the air – and a few sympathetic noises sounded from the crowd – Hermione quickly raised her arm, palm upwards. " _Accio wand!_ " She grinned as it turned in mid-air, away from Edgar's waiting hand, and soared back into her own. She heard his surprised yelp, but thought nothing of it as she aimed her wand at the ground several metres in front of his feet. " _Bombarda!_ " The explosion of grass and soil sent him flying backwards. She drowned out the noises coming from their audience; she hoped a strong opening would challenge him. Mad-Eye had once said that Edgar Bones was one of the finest wizards to have lived, and she was going to make sure he lived up to that for his remaining 24 years of life.

She let him get back on his feet before shooting a silent _stupefy_ at him, barely giving him a chance to regain his bearings.

" _Protego!_ " he cried, noticing her spell just in time. " _Stupefy!_ "

" _Immobulus_ ," Hermione said, leaping delicately out of the way of the jet of red light. When her spell missed him, she tried " _Colloshoo_ ," which did strike its target, sticking his shoes to the ground. As he struggled both to move and think of the counter-charm, she heard laughter from around them. It was rather an interesting sight – tall, burly Edgar unable to move his feet. Simply, but effective, she smiled to herself.

He stared at her curiously. "You could take my wand here and now, Gray!" he called to her, before finally managing to unstick his shoes. " _Petrificus Totalus_!"

Hermione brought up a wandless _protego_ shield with her left hand to deflect the curse, but stepped aside all the same. "But we've barely had time to duel _properly_ , Mr. Bones," she explained sweetly. " _Duro!_ "

" _Protego!_ " he yelped." _Expelliarmus – stupefy!_ You tried to turn me to _stone_?" he demanded, almost in shock. " _Impedimenta!_ "

Her shield cracked under the onslaught of spells, and she found herself ducking to avoid the final one. "The garden needs more statues," she taunted, while aiming a silent, powerful _expelliarmus_ at him, shattering his own shield. She aimed a second one now that he was undefended, but he leapt aside with time to spare. _Damn_ , Hermione thought, although she was rather enjoying this.

"So you can blow them up too, like you did this grassy patch?" he asked, pointing to where her _bombarda_ had landed earlier. " _Incarcerous_!"

Seeing ropes suddenly flying towards her, Hermione – having taken Edgar's bait to be distracted – didn't manage to get out of the way in time, and found her wand arm ensnared, slowly being lowered to the ground. Thinking quickly as she was brought to her knees, she realised he hadn't enchanted the ropes to be unbreakable. Aware that he was advancing on her, she held her left hand over the knots on her arm. " _Finite Incantatum!_ " she yelled, letting the raw power surge. To her relief, the rope snapped and, once she'd shaken the remains off her arm, she vanished them.

Before Edgar had a chance to realise she was free, she already had her wand pointed directly at him.

" _Avis Duodecumus!_ " she said, maximising her signature spell to it's fullest extent." _Oppugno!_ " She chuckled as 36 bluebirds swarmed him, wings flapping, claws and beaks scratching every piece of skin they could find. Minerva was right, this was relaxing her. Immensely. She was truly enjoying herself.

" _Everte Statum!_ " Edgar finally managed to yell, and the birds were blown back, now shocked out of the _oppugno_ jinx. " _Everte Statum!_ " he repeated, only his wand was now directed at his opponent.

A flick of her wand, and Hermione had a _protego_ shield erected in front of her. She slowly walked forwards, shield advancing with her, strengthening it as needed as Edgar shot a few more disarming and immobilising curses at her. Finally close enough for the spell she wanted to use, she smiled as she said, " _Fumos!_ " causing thick smoke to shoot from her wand and wrap around Edgar and his general vicinity. Before the smoke had a chance to obscure him from her vision completely, she used a verbal flipping jinx and a silent sticking charm in quick succession, effectively pinning him to the ground. After she banished the smoke, she walked up to him to see he'd lost his wand – most likely due to the jinx. However, she was having far too much fun to stop... "Do you yield, or would you like to get out of this sticky situation for another round?" she asked him, walking around him as he struggled against the charm.

Panting, he angled his head to look at her. "Another round, please, my Lady," he said, with a grin, as Hermione waved off Alastor, who was coming over to call the end. " _Accio my wand_ ," he added, and his wand slowly rolled into his outstretched hand. "You're a strange one, Miss Jean," he called as she made her way back to her side of the arena.

She laughed softly as she turned back to face him; he was still in the process of unsticking himself from the ground. He still had his feet to go. _Again_ , she thought with a grin.

"They're going at it again, folks!" Alastor commentated to the crowd. "Now accepting bets on whether Eddie is suicidal, or desperate for a sympathy date. _Personally_ , my money's on-"

" _Moody_!" Edgar yelled incredulously. "Just...start the countdown, man. Honestly!"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, taping her fingers along her wand as Alastor started counting down again. She almost swore when, as soon as Alastor had said, "One!", Edgar had started saying the disarming spell.

" _Bombarda_!" Hermione yelled angrily, sending her own jet of light to explode the red spell as it soared through the air, sending tendrils of magical remnants floating over the guests. As she sent a barrage of ropes to bind him, she couldn't help but feel annoyed that he _still_ opened with the same move, despite it having ended so badly the first time.

" _Incendio!_ " Edgar shouted at the ropes, setting them alight and turning them to ash before they hit the ground." _Stupefy!_ "

Automatically, Hermione responded with " _Protego!_ " and went to fire another _impedimenta_ at him, however to her surprise, he raised his arms to ask for a time-out and jogged up to her. "Are you here as some test, Jean Gray?" he queried, looking between someone in the crowd and her.

Hermione frowned, letting her own wand arm fall to her side. "No, just having fun," she said uncertainly. "Why? Are you enjoying the challenge? Or would you prefer to call it a draw?"

"No, no," Edgar said quickly, seemingly reassured. "My Mentor from the Academy just gave me the most peculiar expression and I couldn't help but wonder if you were working for him – it's something Rufe would do, cheeky bastard," he chuckled. "Since I'm losing rather terribly, any advice?"

Hermione thought for a moment, before smiling at him. "Look around you," she said deliberately. "Use your _environment_ to your advantage if you opponent likes to play. Take inspiration from it, like I did with the _duro_ spell. There's more than one way to disarm someone." Her smile grew as she saw him mulling the words over in his head., frowning at the ground, before looking around the arena and the garden. She took a step back to give him his privacy as he started muttering to himself.

"And it's looking like he's after a pity date, ladies and gents!" Alastor continued, once more getting a laugh from not only Hermione, but most of the guests. "The question is, who will it be? His enchanting opponent? Or the lovely Minerv-"

"Fuck off, Moody," Minerva snapped loudly.

Alastor laughed, and Hermione saw him turn his attention to Poppy. "Or is it this delightful flower; Poppy Pomfrey? Or our dear Milly? She'll be Minister one day, folks, I swear... It certainly _wont_ be Amelia, because unlike the Black's, the Bones' _don't_ marry their relatives-"

Despite sniggering in a most unladylike fashion, Hermione was rather shocked at her new-found knowledge: Alastor Moody was _funny_. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' 'Constant Vigilance' Moody cracked jokes. It was...unsettling. Once more, she felt her stomach turn. What on earth had he – _would he_ – go through to become the man she knew from the Order? The man who was so paranoid he was thought to be unstable? She couldn't even remember hearing him laugh, despite Fred and George's best efforts to try and get him to crack.

 _There's no place like home_ , she thought idly, however she snapped out of her reprieve as Edgar signalled he was ready to resume. Alastor ceased his dating line-up and instead of doing the full countdown, just yelled, "One! On with it!", earning more laughs.

Hermione watched Edgar, pleased to see he didn't dive in with _expelliamus_ this time. She already had a plan to end the duel, however she wanted to give him a chance to use her advice. Her eyebrows raised as he _accio_ ed sticks and fallen leaves, before whipping them up with a _turbo_ spell.

"YES! Brilliant, Edgar!" she shouted at him, even though a moment later he'd sent the whirlwind of sticks, twigs and leaves hurtling at her. " _Reducto!_ " she said forcefully, however it did little to break apart the spell. _Shit_ , she thought. " _Bombarda maxima!_ " she cried, before bringing up a shield as the mass of foliage exploded, sending debris flying in every direction.

Edgar was ready, shooting off _incarcerous_ and _stupefy_ , however she blasted them all out of the way, wand slashing through the air like a knife. She retaliated with non-verbal jinxes and hexes in quick succession, shattering his shields as she forced him further and further back, despite his attempts to strike her down. Deciding to end it, she pointed her wand at the grass beneath his feet. " _Malum verto_."

Before her eyes, the grass changed into thick vines, growing wider and longer as they wrapped around Edgar's legs, who was struggling to escape and was forced down onto his knees. The more he struggled, the tighter the plant became, and he gaped at her, his arms pulled to the ground, losing his wand in the process as the plant wove between his fingers.

"You tied me in _Devil's Snare_?!" he screeched in disbelief, although there was a look of slight awe on his face. "You win, Jean Gray. You win, you bloody marvel." Despite the plant's best attempts to tie him down further, the sunlight was getting to it and it started to wither and loosen its grip. He shook himself out of it, with Hermione using _lumos solem_ to help free his feet, which were in the shade. "Cheers," he said, picking up his and from the ground.

"No problem," Hermione smiled, before stepping back from the plant, which was still trying to live. " _Finite incantatum_. _Reparo terra_ ," she added, remembering the damage she'd caused the pristine grass with her first blasting charm. "Sorry about the damage."

"To my ego, or the ground?" he laughed as Alastor announced Jean as the winner, although they weren't paying too much attention. "Your fighting style...is quite unique-"

"That it is," a rather impressed voice agreed.

Hermione turned at the new arrival and felt her eyes widen. Edgar, however, clapped the tall man on the back, greeting him warmly with a sheepish grin, however the man in question only had eyes for Hermione. _No way_ , she thought, recognising the mane of hair anywhere. _Another fucking ghost to haunt me._

"Rufus Scrimgeour," he said, offering his hand. "I mentor Edgar at the Academy. You're quite remarkable, Miss...?"

"Gray," Hermione smiled, taking in Rufus's crooked smile and well-fitted muggle suit as she shook his hand. "Jean Gray."

He grinned at her. " _Enchanté_ , Miss Gray," he said, sounding her name out slowly, looking her up and down. "You couldn't possibly be from Hogwarts, could you?" he asked, seeking confirmation, looking between her and Edgar.

"Jean is Minerva's new friend – just moved here from Paris, wasn't it?" Edgar prompted. "Working in Hogsmeade now with Ros?"

Remembering that you're meant to reply when spoken to, no matter how shocked you are, Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said, throat far too dry. "Fresh start and all that." She coughed, needing water desperately.

Rufus seemed to notice. "Forgive me, Miss Gray, you're probably in dire need of a drink." Hermione turned to go, but Rufus grabbed her wrist gently. "One question, first?" At Hermione's slow nod, he smiled. "Is there a particular weak area you noticed in the duels today? I'd be delighted to hear your thoughts, you seem rather competent."

Swallowing hard, Hermione tried to decide which was the most glaring issue. After a moment, she smiled at him. "Your recruits need to learn how to throw a curse or two at a woman. Without hesitation," she informed him firmly. "Amongst several other things," she added with a wry grin. "But you're indeed correct, I am in need of a drink. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scrimgeour."

"And you," he impressed genuinely. "I'd be delighted to chat further once I've had a few words with Edgar – hopefully he's learned something today," he laughed, giving a small bow as Hermione turned to leave once more.

Hermione gave a grin over her shoulder, but as soon as she looked away, it vanished. She really regretted being talked into this; if Rufus was an instructor at the Auror Academy, then he was sure to be asking questions on her training. _Bloody Minerva_ , she thought, as she caught sight of the witch in question sauntering towards her, grinning.

" _That_ was simply _amazing_ ," Minerva said, hugging her and kissing her cheek. "I swear, Rufus looked like he was wanting to take notes. I don't think his people impressed him today, poor sods. Anyway," she said brightly, "Drink, darling? Milly's teaching the house-elves how to make cocktails. Also-" she stopped and turned to face Hermione, placing her hands on Hermione's shoulders, "I have _never_ seen you look as alive as you did out there. You _actually_ had a bit of sparkle about you, for a change."

As Hermione was pulled into a rib-cracking hug, she realised she'd lost that happiness she'd felt during the duel. Meeting Rufus had brought her back down to earth. The man died under Voldemort's torture, refusing to give up Harry's location, which technically extended to her location, as well. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, looking relaxed as he chatted with Percius McLaggan and Edgar, smiling brightly. Rufus was another who was a far cry from what the wars and would turn them into. She sighed, closing her eyes as she leaned into Minerva's embrace, wishing it was _old_ Minerva, not this...this... _bright young thing_.

"Stop thinking about whatever it is you're thinking about, you're positively _radiating_ negativity," Minerva said pointedly, letting go of Hermione. "You should be proud of yourself; even Augusta Longbottom showed interest in something, which is a rarity, believe me," she grinned. "So come along, drink up, because _you_ -" she tapped Hermione's nose, which was possibly the most _un_ -Professor McGonagall thing she'd done so far, "-of all people, have the inalienable-"

"Right to party, yes," Hermione finished, a small grin appearing. "Just ply me with alcohol. Please. Today has been harder than you can possibly imagine," she muttered, trying to explain how conflicted she was. "What cocktails will Milly be corrupting us all with?"

Minerva rolled her eyes as she answered. "There's a hideous monstrosity called 'The Pink Squirrel' that she discovered in America," she sniffed as they walked over to the drinks table, where most of the women were milling about. "You'll get drunk, as well as a sugar high with the amount of ice-cream she's adding to it. Honestly, I love her, I really do, but she's the only other person I know who eats as much sugar as Albus..."

 _1st July, 2001_

 _Department of Mysteries_

After letting reception know that the Minister and Headmistress were waiting, Kingsley and Minerva took a seat in the waiting room. Minerva looked around; it had changed since the last time she was here. Barely a day into Pius Thickness' ascension to Minister, Minerva had quietly made her way down to the Department of Mysteries near the end of the working day to see if the Time Department was safe. She knew Jean had angered some of the Death Eaters – and had snapped at Tom Riddle on more than one occasion – and the last thing she needed was for _Hermione_ to be outed as the pesky lawyer who always knew a bit too much. She remembered how busy Level 9 had been that day, but luckily, Voldemort's minions were only interested in the Death Chamber and the Study of Magic files.

Sticking to the shadows, she'd barely opened the door to the Time Department's reception when Saul had stopped her from even entering...

" _Get out of here, Minerva," Saul whispered urgently. "We really can't talk right now."_

 _Minerva frowned at him. "If those – those – people find out anything-"_

" _She made sure she was safe – she gave us orders for when this day came to pass," he explained quickly, before opening the door wider, to show what seemed to be every piece of parchment housed in the place being put under the Time-Lock spell. "See?_ _ **Everyone**_ _is safe because of her, we're Locking it all."_

 _Relaxing slightly, Minerva sighed with relief. "Forgive me for being concerned. Hermione's quite important in this war; Jean was always terrified of her younger self being found out."_

 _Saul nodded understandingly. "We know. Now get out of here, I don't want to see your face on any of those_ Undesirable _posters. And Minerva?" he whispered as she turned to go. He looked around uncertainly, before staring directly at her. "Look out for my son this year, yeah? Bradley - it'll be his first time at Hogwarts. With these people in charge...they've already banned Brits from going to Beauxbattons, we can't-"_

" _I know," she said defeatedly, reaching forward and clasping his hand. "I'll be protecting the students with my life, you can count on that, Saul."_

She was shocked out of her memories by the door to Yelena's old office creaking open, revealing the man she'd last spoken to several years ago. He looked older; his blonde hair was balding, and his Unspeakable robes had filled out significantly, but fine otherwise.

"Minister!" Saul's greeted warmly, shaking hands with Kingsley vigorously. "You got my note? And-" he laughed, eyes falling on Minerva. "And of course _you're_ here, Minerva McGonagall. Come through, both of you, we have quite a few things to discuss."

* * *

AN: Thank you all for the amazing response to the last chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one. I swear, the word count just gets higher and higher each time...

Please review! xo


	9. Questions and Answers

Chapter 9

Questions and Answers

 _31st July, 1957_

 _Hogwarts_

It still unsettled Minerva how _quiet_ Hogwarts was during the holidays. With only her, Albus, Trudie, Hagrid – who mostly kept to his cottage – and Peeves in the castle (the latter still locked in the dungeons after The Bloody Barron found out he'd insulted Grey Lady rather rudely at the end of term), every little noise made her jump. She was looking forward to the rest of the Professors returning over the next month – unlike her, they actually had their own homes to go to during the break, whereas she was saving every galleon she could and had opted to remain in her castle lodgings rather than rent a boarding room for two months.

The solitude had been welcome; she'd manage to publish two articles for an American Transfiguration magazine, as well as help Albus proofread his recent submissions for _Transfiguration Today._ Being able to wander aimlessly around the Hogsmeade hills had done wonders for her usual erratic emotions. Albus even joined her on occasion, bringing a picnic basket and some books for them to read as they took advantage of the beautiful Scottish summer weather, although she was half-convinced their joint outings were purely designed to torture her as he always seemed to take the longest of the hiking paths whenever they were together.

As she rounded the corner to the corridor to his living quarters, she smoothed over her oyster blouse, and checked her delicate wristwatch, making sure she was on time. As the second hand passed XII, signifying 8AM, she knocked on his door, feeling almost giddy with excitement, although her cool face did little to show it. She had been looking forward to this day all summer, and now it was here, she was anxious to collect her brother's school letters and hurry off to Caithness to deliver them personally. As always, however, Albus had insisted on breakfasting with her first, which she happy to accept, but naturally, made a show of being displeased. She was ever so grateful that their teasing companionship hadn't changed since she had graduated.

"Good morning, Minerva, my dear," Albus greeted brightly, opening the door to let her in.

She smiled, and stood up on the tips of her toes to kiss his whiskered cheek. "Morning, Albus," she said, far too happily, and gave him a pointed look once her heels were back on the ground. He smirked at her, not answering her expression, which after a minute made her scowl. "Oh, come _on_ , let me see them! I'm their sister, it's my birthright," she said smugly, raising an eyebrow in a dare to challenge her.

He laughed at her, and after a moment, pointed to the dining table. She gave a rather undignified, excited squeak and rushed over to see four shining Hogwarts badges; Malcolm had been made Head Boy, while Robert was a new Prefect, and both of them had been made Quidditch Captains of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively. She beamed as she picked them up, looking at them in the sunlight streaming in from the balcony. "Oh, Albus," she sighed, barely able to contain her grin. "They're beautiful. Ohh, I can't wait to see their faces! They've been badgering me for weeks over this."

"I'm sure they will look suitably shocked and pleased," Albus said, taking them from Minerva's small hands, despite her glower of protest. "Alas, my dear, into the Hogwarts letters they must go," he said patiently, placing them into the two parchment envelopes Minerva had only just noticed on the table. Once they were sealed, he handed them to her. "Do ensure they'll arrive safely, wont you?"

Minerva grinned as she safely pocketed them. "Oh yes, I certainly will. You know, you must really like us McGonagall's to trust yet another with Gryffindor house," she teased him, as he lead her out onto the balcony, where a house-elf was setting up breakfast.

"I happen to be rather fond of all three McGonagall's," he said, pulling out her chair for her. As she sat down, he added, "Even if Malcolm was sorted into Ravenclaw."

"Well, we can't all be perfect," Minerva replied nonchalantly, although the beginnings of a wry smile played upon her lips. "What are we toasting to, old man?" she asked, as he sat down and raised his goblet of pumpkin juice.

He paused for a moment, eyes twinkling in the morning sun. "To what I'm sure will be a very interesting Quidditch season this school year."

As they clinked their goblets together, Minerva murmured her agreement, adding in her hopes for a Gryffindor - Ravenclaw show-down in the finals, before they both started eating; full English breakfast for Albus, whereas Minerva had a small plate of scrambled eggs, although Albus pointedly added two pieces of toast for her to consume, as well. She sighed, and shook her head in mild disbelief, but ate them without complaint. Albus was just protective of her, she knew that. She certainly hadn't been the picture of health when she had arrived during the December holidays, and it had taken him weeks to get some life about her again.

"Tell me your plans for the day; I assume you've got something special planned for Malcolm and Robert given their letters?" he prompted.

After dutifully finishing the few mouthfuls of food left on her plate, Minerva acquiesced. "Malcolm has his Apparation Licensing Test at the Ministry this morning – his 17th was last week," she said, "Then we'll be off to Diagon Alley to get school supplies...which will happen to include two brand new Cleansweep Five's," she finished with a smile. The boys had never had their own brooms before, nor anything new, really; at least, not until she had graduated Hogwarts and started earning her own galleons to spend on them.

Albus nodded along as she spoke, pouring them both some tea. "That all sounds wonderful, my dear. They certainly have a generous sister," he grinned.

"They deserve it. They deserve the best," Minerva muttered, tearing at another piece of toast with nimble fingers. "And if I'm the one that buys such things, it's _me_ Father will be angry with, not Mother. The less tension at the manse, the better for everyone." She repressed a shudder as she remembered the row her parents had had when her mother had used some of their savings to buy Minerva a broomstick when she was made captain in her fourth year. Her brothers didn't need to shoulder the same level of guilt she had.

"Everyone except you," Albus pointed out with a frown.

Minerva shrugged, tearing at the toast once more, but not placing a single piece in her mouth to eat. "I've made my choice," she said determinedly. "The visit two weeks ago confirmed it; I'm a witch, Albus, and for that, I'll never apologise, nor hide it. Not like Mother," she added quietly, averting her gaze by taking another sip of tea. "My priority is making sure my brothers are able to grab at the opportunities presented to them with both hands. Everything I do is for them now." She gave a small quirk of her lips, trying to rustle herself out of the rather pensive mood she now found herself in.

As if sensing her predicament, Albus reached over and patted her hand softly, bringing her back to the present. "You are, of course, welcome to bring them here at any point during the holidays should you wish to spend more time with them – overnight, if you wish," he reminded her. "They could test out their brooms on the pitch? Go swimming in the lake? Spend the day in Hogsmeade with their _sister_ , rather than their on-duty Professor?"

Minerva let his suggestions roll over in her mind; she knew Robert and Malcolm would jump at the chance to escape Caithness for a day or two. After taking a sip of her tea, she nodded. "They would love that. You'll have to agree to afternoon tea with us, though – all three McGonagall's happen to be rather fond of Albus Dumbledore, too," she grinned. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Minerva leaning back in her chair and basking in the warm sunlight. It was times like these when she realised that her animagus form was rather obvious – a fact Albus ever-so kindly pointed out to her a moment later, rather amused at her antics. "Oh, shush," she told him, waving her hand dismissively while the corners of her mouth twitched.

She heard him chuckle and take a sip of his tea, before he asked, "And how is our little time traveller faring? Any news at all?"

Minerva opened her eyes and sat normally once again, choosing her words carefully. Jean Gray was a complicated subject. "She has good days and bad days," she said fairly. "Ros likes her, and she's a good worker, apparently." After having a large gulp of tea, she continued, "She's heard nothing from the Ministry. She's just expected to place her entire life on hold for a rescue that I can tell she's losing faith in, and honestly, I cannot blame her. _I'm_ losing faith. If the future had no way of rescuing her – which seems rather likely, given it's now been a month – why on earth did they not prevent this? Or warn her?" A horrid thought struck her as she realised she was just as entangled in this as Jean was: _Why didn't_ _ **I**_ _?_ Sure, Jean had given herself a make-over but Minerva still remembered what she looked like when she first arrived – surely Older Minerva would have recognised her? Particularly since she and Jean were meant to be friends. It simply didn't make any sense.

"Time is a funny thing," Albus mused softly, despite Minerva's own tone bordering on becoming that of a passionate rant. "I'm sure we will understand it all at some point. For now, she is simply at it's mercy."

Minerva frowned, and gave a non-committal hum. It all sounded so helpless from their end. "Well, at least she has us two to look out for her," she said, finishing the last of her tea. "Although my record is slightly dented now that Rufus is on her case." She gulped awkwardly – while Jean had been correct in that the duel at the picnic would bring unwanted attention to her, she hadn't been on the mark as to the reason; people were curious rather than suspicious, although Jean had remarked that, to her, there wasn't much difference between the two, only that one word inspired trust and that the other didn't. Sighing, she looked at her watch to find it was time for her to leave. "I've got to get going, Albus," she said, standing up and smoothing over her black trousers as she did so. "Thank you for breakfast; you know I adore our chats."

"Of course," he said, standing quickly and striding over to open the door back inside. "I look forward to hearing all about your brother's reactions when you return, my dear."

After lingering near the door, she turned to Albus and, after staring up at him for a moment, surprisingly stepped forward and gave him a hug. While he was startled for a moment, he returned it, carefully avoiding disrupting her intricate hairstyle as he held her close. "What's brought this on?" he asked her softly.

Minerva shrugged, unable to really put to words the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that had decided to come over her. Her emotions were always more prevalent after talks of her family life – Albus had managed to coax most of the information out of her over the past eight months. "Feeling sentimental, I guess," she murmured, before kissing his cheek and stepping back, both holding each other's upper arms. "Thank you, old man. For the job, for... Everything. Lord knows where I'd be today without you."

To her slight embarrassment, Albus blushed at her words. "Let us not dwell on 'what-could-have-been's', my dear," he said softly. "Now, off with you, Miss McGonagall. You have two very important letters to deliver, and I have...several hundred others to owl out," he laughed as he walked her out, hand on her upper back guiding her.

Minerva bade him goodbye and began to hurry down the corridor, but doubled back before he had a chance to close the door. After he raised his eyebrows at her, she said, "You should stop by to see her. Jean, I mean. I'm sure she'd be grateful for someone other than me to be knocking on the door to her room," she joked. "She doesn't start work today until noon." She gave a final smile and, with that, headed off, visualising the back garden of the family manse as soon as she was out of the anti-apparation wards and disappeared with a soft _pop_.

* * *

 _31st July 1957_

 _Hogsmeade_

Walking out of Toomes & Scrolls feeling rather dejected and, once more empty handed, Hermione headed across the bustling Hogsmeade street to the local bakery. She paid several knuts for a single cupcake, accepting it with a smile before going back to The Three Broomsticks, very grateful for the secret staff entrance at the back, which allowed her to avoid the general public. She'd woken up this morning with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and didn't know why until she saw the date.

Harry's birthday.

Harry's _21st_ birthday.

His present was sitting on the kitchen table in her London flat, some 44 years in the future. Hence why she'd decided to buy a cupcake while she was out – despite the heartache, and the fact he didn't exist, nor did his parents, she wouldn't let the day go by without some sort of acknowledgement. Once she was in her room, she threw her purse on her bed and, with a flick of her wand, the small table produced a plate and a small candle. She took the chocolate cupcake from the box and placed it on the plate as she sat down. "Happy birthday, Harry James Potter," she said sadly, placing the candle in the icing and lighting it with her wand.

She knew it was pathetic, she knew it wasn't her fault she was not being in 2001 celebrating properly, but she still felt guilty. She missed Harry dreadfully, he was her brother in every way but blood. Unlike Ron, Harry understood the extreme dedication she had to her work, only because he was the same. Unlike her, however, he had a very understanding partner, given that Ginny was off travelling for weeks on end with the Harpies. _And none of you even_ _ **fucking**_ _exist yet_ , she thought, eyes welling as her shoulders slumped. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

Every day, she paid a visit to the various bookshops – even apparating to London several times – to see if they had any new releases on time travel. Hermione Granger prided herself on understanding nearly everything, and currently, she didn't understand what was happening to her. She couldn't remember how she ended up in the Lake, but she hoped that, if she did, it might provide her with answers and, dare she hope, a possible way home if they could re-create whatever happened in her Lab. Those missing 14 hours of her memory were currently the bane of her existence. She was half-tempted to ask Albus to use Legillimency on her to see if he could view them, but she thought she'd wait until she'd brewed a modern memory potion or two before she'd ask.

 _Ooh, I could try veritaserum_ , she thought, eyes brightening with yet another idea. She couldn't recall a study ever being done to see if memory loss hampered the potions' effectiveness; either way, she'd use it as a base for a potential research paper to submit to _Potioneer's Prophet_ when she got home. _If_ she got home.

She made a few notes in her notebook, knowing she'd need to do some research on the current regulations for the powerful truth serum. The last thing she needed was to jeopardise her already shaky citizenship by being caught with Ministry-controlled potion ingredients.

A loud knocking on the door broke her out of her musings. She frowned, checking the clock – it was half-past 10 and her morning off, so Orla or Rosmerta wouldn't be bothering her, and she knew Minerva was spending the day with her brothers. After magically sealing her notebook, she stood up and took the five steps required to get to the door of her room, wand in hand out of habit. To her utter surprise, she was greeted with the sight of Albus Dumbledore, looking rather... _normal_ in plain navy blue robes, for a change. It was odd. "Hello Albus," she said slowly, voice clearly showing that she was slightly suspicious as to his presence.

"Jean," he smiled, holding up his hands to show he meant to threat. As her wand arm slackened, he said, "My apologies for not owling. I was wondering if you'd join me for morning tea at the café on Little High Street?" At her surprised expression, he explained, "Minerva thought you might like someone else visit you, for a change, although I had been meaning to stop by to see you."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Part of her was wary, although she had to remind herself that Albus wasn't the same as the man she knew from the Order. Yet. Figuring she might as well kill some time before her shift, she relaxed her stance and smiled. "I would love to. Just give me a moment-" she turned back around and sent her notebook into the safe under the bed, and summoned over her purse. She had enough for for tea and cake, even though she wasn't particularly hungry. Besides, she still had the cupcakes, that was still uneaten. She blew out the candle before turning back to Albus. "Shall we?" she said, sliding past him, locking and warding the door behind her.

"I wasn't interrupting anything?" he asked as she lead them down the stairs. "The candle and cake-"

"My friend's birthday," she said quickly. "Back home. Silly, I know-" she gave a shaky laugh, "-but I'd been looking forward to it for months before I ended up here." She was unable to stop the bitterness from seeping into her voice, and forced herself to take a moment to assess the current moment from a slightly more positive angle – she was just about to have morning tea with one of the most renowned wizards of all time. He was offering to be her friend. If she was to be stuck here for a while, he'd be a powerful ally to have.

Albus shook his head. "Not silly at all, Jean. I find it admirable you're trying to maintain some sense of normality despite being so out of place. Allow me," he said, quickening his step and opening the door for her. "How are you, my dear?"

Hermione considered for a moment. She never knew how to answer this question. Albus wasn't like the customers she placated on a daily basis, after all – a bright and cheery, 'Oh, I'm _excellent_ , good sir, and how are _you_?' was not something she could ever envision herself saying to the wizard currently beside her. "I'm well enough," she said slowly. "Trying to keep myself busy. And you?"

As he lead her down the small side street, they continued making small talk until Albus ushered her into the café he'd chosen, asking the waitress quickly for a private booth, and Devonshire Tea for two. "The scones here are simply exquisite," he explained as they took a seat opposite each other at a table in a small dining area away from the main part of the floor.

Normally, Hermione would be furious if someone ordered food for her without asking her what she wanted, but she took a calming breath to remind herself of what year it was. That, and Albus was most likely trying to show her the local delicacies. "Well, I look forward to sampling them," she smiled as she looked around, realising that, in her day, this place was actually a music store.

A moment later, the waitress had arrived, bearing their order. Hermione had to admit, the scones looked delicious – large and fluffy, with what looked to be house-made strawberry jam and cream on the side. She smiled her thanks at the waitress, before feeling the rush of magic encompassing the table. At her tensing, Albus reached across and patted her hand. "Privacy wards, Jean. Should our topics wander into slightly sensitive territory," he smiled.

"Right," she said, relaxing once more. "Good call. I will admit to having a few questions for you, not all of which are particularly pleasant subjects." She helped herself to the tea, pouring for them both, and the lovely scent of English Breakfast hit her nose. Over the past week or so, she'd come up with a variety of things to ask Albus Dumbledore, and had been planning on asking Minerva if he would agree to a meeting. In turn, she hoped he would appreciate having someone who understood _him_ , given how, whether he liked it or not, she knew his complete history.

"Oh?" he asked, adding sugar to his steaming cup of tea. "That does sound rather ominous."

"Everything is when concerning Tom Riddle," she deadpanned, curious to see his reaction. She was not disappointed; for barely a fraction of a second, his eyes widened, before twinkling knowingly. "I want to know where we are, in terms of our shared history," she explained. "Do the Knights of Walpurgis exist yet?"

He nodded. "They've undergone a recent name change, I do believe," he said smoothly. He had the shadow of a smile on his lips – Hermione guessed that he might enjoy having someone to speak to about this.

Hermione couldn't resist a scoff. "'Death Eaters'. Ridiculous name, if you ask me," she sniffed. "And Riddle himself? Abroad or back in the United Kingdom?"

"Mostly abroad, but he does make the occasional appearance here, from what my sources tell me," Albus said. "My, ah, suspicions are correct, then? He is a danger?"

Over her cup of tea, Hermione nodded, staring directly into his eyes. "Very much so. Have any strange attacks started? Against muggles or muggle-borns? Are his followers actively recruiting?"

Albus sighed, placing down his cup and looked over his shoulder to make sure they were truly alone. With a flick of his wand, she felt him add yet another privacy spell. "I suspect five in the past three years have been the handiwork of him or his friends," he said quietly. "Although I dare say there are more. And as far as I am aware, his number of followers is increasing, but only within members of the same family. I believe Renatus Lestrange has already promised his sons to the cause upon their respective 17th birthdays."

Hermione paled slightly at the mention of Rodolphus and Rabastan, and took another sip of tea to quell the growing unease in her stomach. "Right," she said after a while. "Well, at least I know my anxieties haven't been for nought. It's all happening, even if no one can see it." She sighed, and reached for one of the scones, cutting it in half and spreading some of the jam and cream over it. It honestly looked divine, and tasted even more so. Once more, Albus Dumbledore was correct. Trust him to know where the best sweets and pastries were in Hogsmeade.

It was reassuring to know that Tom Riddle wouldn't randomly pop into the pub for a pint. Seeing future Death Eaters was something she'd already had to endure, having seen a young Abraxas Malfoy strolling down Main Street the day before, but seeing Voldemort himself? She didn't know if she could handle that. Part of her already had been tempted to hunt him down to kill him, only she knew he already had horcruxes in play and her attempt on his life would be futile, and probably do more damage than good. It was still a nice thought, though.

"And how are you find the work?" Albus asked after they had both finished their scones. "Am I correct in assuming you are rather bored?"

Hermione's face flushed, yet she couldn't bring herself to deny his assumption. "I go from picking apart and experimenting on some of the darkest objects found in Europe...to serving beer and chips," she said contritely, not looking at him. "' _Bored_ ' doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling. However," she said slowly, bring her eyes up to meet his, "The job gives me money, and a roof over my head, so for that, Albus Dumbeldore, I am very grateful to you." She inclined her head and raised her teacup towards him, a soft smile crossing her lips. She was well aware of how much Albus had done for her so far. If he kept at it, she'd forgive him for all the bullshit he made Harry live through.

Albus dismissed her appraisal with a wave of his hand. "Think nothing of it. As I've said, trusting you was an easy decision for me to make." He paused for a moment, looking at her over the tips of his tented fingers. "Have you considered studying? It's a shame to see such an incredible mind go to waste."

"Would I even be allowed to?" Hermione asked, seriously doubting her chances. Her guidelines were quite strict about what work she could do for the foreseeable future, but she couldn't recall seeing anything about _not_ studying, now that she thought on it.

"I see no reason why not," Albus said fairly. "You may not be able to have your old job back, but I assure you, there are plenty more ways to rid the world of darkness other than destroying cursed objects. Law, perhaps? Journalism? The _Prophet_ is making moves to get more females on their payroll – Barnabus's wife has the same mindset that you and Minerva share in regards to feminism and equality and has just taken over employee management."

Hermione couldn't resist a very smug smile at that; Francesca Cuffe would go on to be one of the loudest feminists in the Wizarding world in the 1970's – Hermione owned all of her published works. "She certainly does," Hermione agreed quietly, still smiling as she took another sip of tea. "I'm not one for journalism, however, unless it's academic research. _Transfiguration Today_ would be more my thing, but I already have a Mastery in that field so studying it again would be pointless..."

"Perhaps study a different Mastery? Charms? Arithmancy?" Albus suggested.

Shaking her head, Hermione explained, "If I get home, it will be so outdated I'd most likely have to start again. _Law_ , however," she murmured, circling back to his first suggestion, "Could be a possibility." She thought back to her careers advice meeting several years previously with Professor McGonagall – she'd left with almost every pamphlet and information package available, completely unsure of what area to focus on. It had taken her until her final year to decide on her masteries and which field to use them in. Creature rights were still a passion, even now, but it was _far_ too forward-thinking for the 50's. But _law_...when Professor McGonagall had suggested it back in 1996, she didn't think it was something she'd be interested in, however she'd changed a lot since then. Now, it seemed it would be the closest she could get to fighting for the underdog. Plus, it was in the 60's that Wizarding law began being updated – it would certainly be an exciting time to enter the legal world if she was still stuck in the past in three or four years time.

Albus nodded approvingly. "I believe that would be an excellent choice," he said, eyes twinkling. "I'll rustle up some left over information packages from our career's advice meetings and owl them to you. There are several institutions in Great Britain you can chose from, depending on what you want to specialise in..."

Hermione couldn't help but stare in awe as she saw the change in Albus. In all her years at Hogwarts, she'd only ever thought of him as the Headmaster, yet now she was seeing the glimpse of him as a teacher as he explained the basics of acquiring acceptance at the various wizard and muggle law schools. All of a sudden, she felt like a Hogwarts student again. The sensation almost made her laugh.

"One final bonus of studying," Albus said after not-so-subtly suggesting she look further into the Artemisia Lufkin School of Law for her choice, "Is that you'll have a legitimate excuse to turn down Mr. Scrimgeour's generous offer of joining the Auror Academy."

Hermione couldn't help but let out a peal of laughter. "Minerva told you about that, did she?" she asked, eyebrow raised. Since the picnic, she and Rufus had owled a few times; he was very keen on getting her involved in the Academy, either as a student, or as a potential guest tutor. And she was running out of ways to decline politely, as tempting as both offers were.

Albus nodded. "Yes. You caused quite a stir at the annual picnic, from what I hear," he said, struggling to hide his smile. "So much so, Edgar has agreed to stop dissuading his sister from joining the Academy once she finishes Hogwarts." He inclined his head approvingly from across the table.

"Well, quite frankly, I would be terrified to live in a world where Amelia Bones _wasn't_ an Auror," Hermione informed him quickly, before finishing the last of her tea. "She has a wonderful future ahead of her." _Until 1996_ , she finished in her head, repressing a shudder.

As Albus finished his own cup, Hermione suggested they get going; her shift was due to start soon and it still took her a while to get into the bubbly barmaid mindset that the customers expected. She pointedly passed a handful of sickles to Albus to cover her share of the bill – completely scandalous in the 1950's for a woman to do that, but since he knew the truth about her, she felt she could be herself. She laughed at his exasperated sigh, and waited patiently while he paid. As they walked back to The Three Broomsticks, Hermione realised that there was a thought niggling at her about why he trusted her. He'd never actually told her what it is she thought about Minerva that had convinced him. "Albus...?"

"Yes, Jean?"

"When you ran Minerva's name through my head," she said slowly, "What do I think of her?"

He cocked his head to the side as they lingered at the staff entry of the pub. "Well, what is it that you think when you hear her name?" he asked in turn.

Hermione frowned at his deflection. "To be honest... There's so many emotions and words that come to mind, whereas you make it sound like there was one that was stronger than the rest. I'm just curious, is all," she smiled.

Albus was silent for a moment, simply looking at her. "'Safety'," he said eventually. "Minerva makes you feel safe. There is no higher compliment, in my opinion, Jean. I couldn't possibly split the two of you up after learning that."

 _Safety_ , Hermione thought, _yes, that makes sense_. It wasn't exactly what she was expecting, but the more she mulled it over, the more she realised that it was true. She had no façade or pretence when she was around the older woman. She never lied about how she was coping during and after the war, and Minerva had helped her through her darkest moments in the year after the Battle. Not having time to dwell, she smiled at Albus. "I agree," she said. "Thank you. And thank you for taking me out, I've had a truly enjoyable time." She stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and gave him a quick hug.

"You're a delight to talk to, Jean," he said kindly. "And I'll owl you career information the moment I'm back at the castle."

"I look forward to it," she smiled. They bade each other farewell, Albus promising to pop in for a drink with the returning staff members soon, and Hermione hurried upstairs to her room to fix her clothes and put on a bit more make-up. _Law_ , she thought, brushing out her hair... _Yes. Yes, yes, yes and yes._ For the first time, she'd started actively planning a future for the past. And it was no where near as scary and heartbreaking as she thought it would be.

* * *

 _1st July, 2001_

 _Department of Mysteries_

A small wave of deja vu washed over Minerva as she sat in what was once Yelena Artlock's office; now Saul Croaker's. Nothing had changed since the very first time she'd been there; same desk, same chairs. She hoped the tea would be an improvement.

She listened politely as Saul explained to Kingsley that the Ministry's official investigation into Hermione's disappearance was no longer needed. "It's a Time case, Minister – out of the Ministry's jurisdiction," he said patiently. "We've already sent your team home, and our people have moved on in. If Minerva consents, we will be more than happy to send you daily updates."

"Of course, yes," Minerva said, realising that the pause in conversation was for her to agree.

Saul went on to continue, however Kingsley held up and hand to silence him. "Professor Croaker," the Minister said, "I understand that figuring out how and why is all very interesting, however I'm more concerned with when Hermione will be coming back-" he shot a look to Minerva, who nodded in agreement. As curious as she was as to how all of this started, it seemed that Kingsley also had a few questions for the Time Department, and this one mirrored her own. "The return date on the memo had no year on it; how are we meant to tell her friends and family that she's safe if we can't give a definite answer?"

When Saul swallowed awkwardly and didn't answer for a long while, Minerva realised that her and Jean's eventual suspicions had been correct. The Time Department was still floundering when it came to this case. "You don't know, do you? You still have no idea when or how she's coming home!"

He gulped as Minerva's features twisted into a scowl. "No," he admitted quietly, summoning over his own copy of the memo both Kingsley and Minerva had received. "You are not the only ones confused over this, I can assure you of that."

* * *

A/N: You can thank Jude Law for the amount of YoungleDore in this chapter. (Did anyone else get ridiculously excited seeing the latest Fantastic Beasts trailer?!)

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Leave me a review, yeah? Love you all xo


	10. A Fiery Birthday

Oh, hey guys. Long time, right? Ya girl started uni on a whim in July (like, literally on a whim – I decided one night that I was going to do a course and enrolled the next day) and my life was full of assessments instead of Harry Potter. Tragic, but necessary. Anyway, I just want to thank those of you who have reviewed despite my absence, you're all ever so kind and I love each and every one of your comments. So without further ado, here is a long awaited update!

(And for those reading my other story, Darkness Underneath, I have no idea when I'll update that but it's on my to-do list, I promise!)

Lily x

EDIT: Thanks to Mary Nirvana for pointing out a date mistake this chapter! Fixed now.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: A Fiery Birthday**

 _19th September, 1957_

 _Hogsmeade_

Life was rather monotonous for Hermione. It was almost as if she was on auto-pilot, merely going through the motions, not entirely 100% there. She woke up each day in her small little room at The Three Broomsticks, went to work downstairs at the bar, begged for over-time just to keep herself busy, ate dinner and went to bed, only to repeat it all again the next day.

The Ministry had declined her request to study, and was once more reminded that wizarding law was made for people with little common sense. Unfortunately, even those with plenty of said sense were no exception to said laws. According to whatever department Madame Artlock had spoken to, they were worried she might inadvertently create a law several years before its existence, or actively seek to change wizarding future by changing the law in the past.

Even just thinking about it made Hermione's head hurt.

To be fair, though, she could see why it was a risk and there were preventions in place for time travellers, but that did not make her any less annoyed. She would never be so foolish as to let slip a future piece of legislation, or advance a theory before its time, but she was willing to bet that not all accidental time-travellers would think the same.

Still, there was a small, irrational, Gryffindor part of her that was not merely going to accept that her life was to be a barmaid for the duration of her vacation, as she'd started to think of it. She knew she'd figure something out – some sort of escape from Hogsmeade – sooner rather than later. Despite her goody two-shoes reputation at school, Harry and Ron certainly knew that she was far from an angelic little Gryffindor. There was a sprinkling of Slytherin in there, it just took a while to come out. Given that her patience was running thin, it was only a matter of time.

Her goal now was to make it to Christmas, and if she wasn't home by then, then she'd start reassessing her options, even if it meant leaving Hogsmeade for good. She knew there was a reclusive Time Mistress living in France around this point in history who might be more pro-active in searching for a way forwards, or who might have more answers than the British Ministry were giving.

An overly enthusiastic knock on the door to her rooms broke her out of the recesses of her mind. She realised she had been staring absent-mindedly at her reflection for the duration of the sunrise while she mulled over her current life – she'd barely noticed that the sky was no longer dark, and was in fact bright and shining through the window. She shook her head at herself and finished applying rouge on her cheeks to at least make herself look alive. She'd lost count of the amount of hours she had lost simply because she got caught up in her own head over the past couple of months. The rational part of her mind pointed out that that was a symptom of depression, but there wasn't much she could do about it.

Instead, she put a smile on her face and waved the door to her room unlocked and open. She was greeted by a smiling Minerva and Ros, who upon seeing their friend, trilled, "Happy birthday!". Minerva's wand gave a _pop_ and several bright, colourful streamers erupted to land on Hermione's dark curls.

Despite her less-than-festive mood, Hermione couldn't help but smile at the two witches currently dragging her out of her room with promises of brunch and, on Minerva's part, not too much complaining about the pile of essays she'd stayed up half the night marking.

"I'll be quick," the young Professor said as they left the bar, "But honestly, it's like the knowledge just _drains_ from their pretty little heads over Summer and I've got to spend the first half of this term just _re-teaching_ them everything we covered from _last term!_ "

While Rosmerta and Hermione let Minerva finish her spiel – spiels that were just something Hermione had come to learn was simply a part of being friends with a young Minerva McGonagall – they found a table at the park, where Minerva then pulled a large picnic basket from one of the pockets in her emerald robes and, with a flick of her wand, the table was set for three with what looked like a feast prepared by the Hogwarts elves. There was croissants, hotcakes and French toast, fresh fruit and pumpkin juice, all kept warm or chilled under a protection charm. It smelled absolutely delicious.

As they ate, Hermione realised that despite her melancholy moments, Minerva and Rosmerta had turned into the shining lights of her life, and she couldn't help but beam at them for planning this little brunch for her. Young Minerva was still a marvel to her, but she was certainly endearing, and Rosmerta – Hermione regretted barely paying attention to the barmaid in the future. She was quite possibly the most wholesome person in existence. _How could I ever think of leaving them?_ she asked herself. Vowing to keep her dark thoughts at bay, she relaxed into the conversation that was flowing; mostly town gossip, but Minerva was full of stories of the funny start-of-term student antics that were still going on in the castle. By the sound of it, it seemed as though The Marauders and the Weasley Twins weren't the only destructive trouble makers Hogwarts had – or would – be home to. The current group of misfits had tried surfing on the Giant Squid's tentacles the previous day, resulting them being flung into the canopy of the Forbidden Forest trees by the lake.

"I wanted to tell them that you need to bribe Squiddy with smoked salmon first if you want to be friends with her," Minerva said nonchalantly, "But I think that's frowned upon now that I'm a teacher."

When brunch was over, and Minerva had gone back to teach her afternoon lessons and Rosmerta was helping in the kitchens, Hermione went back to her room, clutching the presents her two friends had gifted her with close to her chest. Rosmerta had given her a lovely quill, ink and parchment set, while Minerva had given her a Jane Austen collection. Hermione was touched she had remembered her fondness for the muggle author.

As she placed her gifts on the small desk by the window, she saw a letter waiting for her on her coffee table in familiar curly handwriting. _What do you want_? Hermione thought as she opened the envelope with narrowed eyes.

 _Jean –_

 _Many happy returns on your birthday. Please meet me at the Hogsbend Bridge at 9pm tonight – I require a dark magic expert with battle experience. Dress appropriately._

 _A. Dumbledore._

Hermione twisted her lips as she read. She was curious, yes, but her experience with the Old Dumbledore made her rather wary of getting too involved with his younger – if far more pleasant – self. Even here in 1957, there was just _something_ she was unwilling or unable to trust, yet if asked to explain what it was, she'd be unable to put it into words.

But she couldn't deny the fact that Albus' requirements worried her. Was Riddle back in the country? Was an early Death Eater attack being planned? Had he found an Object that even he was confused by?

In the end, she knew her curiosity – and slight anxiety – would get the better of her. So it came to no surprise to her that after her dinner shift ended, she quickly transfigured some of her clothes and shoes to black slim pants and boots and threw on a black shirt before hurrying out the back door, pulling on her dragon-hide coat as she did so. She heard Ros try to call out to her, but she simply told her friend to not wait up. She almost felt like Hermione Granger again, and she absolutely loved it.

* * *

 _19th September, 1957_

 _Hogsbend Bridge_

Albus was waiting for her at the end of the bridge. Like her, he was in black and as she approached, she realised that this was the very first time she had ever seen him wearing that particular colour. In her time, he was rather fond of colourful robes and an odd assortment of hats.

"Jean," he greeted with a warm smile, "Delighted you could come. I trust you've had an enjoyable day?"

Hermione nodded, and smiled. "I have, thank you." Not quite in the mood for small-talk, she cut straight to the point; "So what can I do for you tonight, Albus Dumbledore?"

Even in darkness, his eyes sparkled. He gestured for her to walk with him further out of the wizarding village. Once the streetlamps and cottages were out of sight, he stopped suddenly. "I'm unsure if this is documented in its entirety in your history books, my dear, but thanks to Tom, Great Britain has become a smugglers haven for Dark objects." He paused for a moment, before continuing. "There's a shipment tonight, and while I'm unsure if Tom is directly involved, it certainly involves some of his lesser acquaintances. From past experiences, I know that they do not shy away from using rather nasty spells-"

"I'm in," Hermione said quickly. "This is like what I do at home. Raids, interceptions…then I study whatever we find." She was unable to hide the longing in her voice. She hadn't picked apart a curse in far too long, in her opinion.

"Then you'll be perfect for this. Please bear in mind," he added warningly, "That this might be a complete waste of time, or something bigger than we thought. We only have a small amount of information, and even that is questionable Last chance to change your mind."

He was serious, but so was Hermione. Was this the right thing to do? Would this change the future? What if the Ministry found out? That theory that she hated – the one that makes her being here historical fact rather than a random accident – was gnawing at her.

And it made her angry. She was certainly in the mood to disrupt a dark smuggling operation.

"Just try and keep me away, old man," she said determinedly. "How many others are joining us?"

"Oh, just a few like-minded friends and associates," he said, offering his arm. "Some of the others have taken to calling our group The Order. Personally, I think the name is a tad on the dull side, but regardless, we'd be delighted to have you with us."

Oblivious to Hermione's wide eyes, and before she even had the chance open her mouth in shock at hearing the words 'The Order', Hermione felt the familiar squeezing sensation as Albus apparated them away from Hogsmeade into the night with a soft _pop._

* * *

 _19th September, 1957_

 _Somewhere South of Hastings, England_

"A woman, Dumbledore? This is the expert you spoke of? I've never seen her before in my life!" Were the first words Hermione heard once she regained her bearings - she could already feel the protection spells around them, and floating fireballs were providing a bit of light. The minute she processed what she heard – rather typical of the era, but irritating nonetheless – she stepped forward into the dim firelight of whatever clearing Albus had apparated them to.

Her quick scan showed her that there were at least six others there along with her and Albus. "Excuse me?" she asked dangerously, drawing her wand to point it at the group, almost daring the first speaker to step forward. She sorely hoped he didn't – she'd spent another shift at the bar turning down people who assumed the reason a barmaid was talking to them was because she was in love with them – not because she was merely doing her job – and was in the mood to throw a few hexes.

"I assure you, Mr. Smith," Albus said coolly, "Ms Gray's skills are exceptional."

Once upon a time, Hermione would have blushed and tried to deny it. Instead her lips curled into a hint of a smirk as she stared at this Smith man. She was willing to bet he was a relation to Zacharias.

"Can confirm," a cheery voice piped up from the back. "She's good even without a wand in her hand. Don't test her, Roderick."

Hermione lowered her wand and smiled. "Alastor," she said, somewhat surprised that the sandy-haired young man was there. _This really is the beginning of the Order_ , she thought.

"Jeanie," he nodded. "Just ignore Roddy, he's a prat. You'd think someone his age would know better."

Roderick sniffed. "Someone my age wouldn't put a woman in this dangerous situation."

"I can handle myself, believe me," Hermione said coolly. "Now I'm sure Albus here would much prefer to run through tonight's operation instead of having to listen to this nonsense?" She folded her arms across her chest, fingers tapping along the edge of her wand impatiently.

Albus pointedly cleared his throat, and shot Hermione a small smile. "Yes, well … Let me assure all of you that each and every one of you are here for a reason. Now, the plan is to wait until they've unloaded the crate from the boat. I'm curious to see how they're cloaking its presence so do keep a close eye on their wand movements, if indeed they are using magic to hide it. Once they've removed the crate, or crates, from the boat, our aim is to secure it and get it to Hogsbend Bridge, where I will then deliver it to the Ministry.

"Resistance is to be expected," Albus continued seriously in the dim firelight, "And as always, I implore you to _stun_ rather than kill-"

Hermione heard a few clearly undisguised scoffs and mutterings at this request. She was curious as to who else was here – by the time she was a part of the Order – or, rather The Order of the Phoenix – it was the second incarnation, and she knew they had lost many in the first war.

" _Purely because_ it would be rather nice to get a conviction, should it come to that," Albus said pointedly. He stared down everyone in the room, before checking his pocketwatch. "It is almost time, according to our source-"

"Yer welcome, Dumbledore," a gravelly Irishman said from the shadows. "Regards from Auror HQ."

"Many thanks again, Rauri," Albus said with a nod. "Now, a quarter of a mile that way-" he pointed to the left, "-is the shore. Silencing spells over shoes, please, and spread out. If you get injured, apparate to Hogsbend and help will be there. Ready?"

"Ready," they all chorused, keeping their voices low.

Hermione chose to stay back once people started moving. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light from the floating fireballs, and she could make out a few of the other men there. Most looked to be in their 30's or 40's – she and Alastor were clearly the younger ones. Roderick shot her a distrustful look before making a beeline for the far end of the group away from her, his mutterings indistinguishable. It seemed he was not happy about a woman being there. She wondered what his speciality was. Truth be told, she hadn't really concerned herself with who the Ministry personnel were of this day and age, but by his demeanour, she assumed he was on the Wizengamot, at least. Perhaps a Department Head.

She caught Albus' eye and he jerked his head, indicating for her to follow him. She quickly silenced her shoes and stayed by his side as they walked. Once they were out of the safety of the protection spells, she could hear the sound of the water being carried through the night. It was the only noise she could hear, so despite her curiosity, she daren't ask for their exact location.

Ahead of them, they heard the distinctive sound of apparition _cracks_ – she guessed at least seven, one right after the other. Next to her, she saw Albus had a very satisfied smile on his bearded face.

He signalled to her to go around, to follow them from the side. She lead the way, amazed she hadn't tripped on fallen twigs in the limited moonlight. It didn't take them long to reach the shore, where Albus reached for her arm to hold her back, pressing his finger to his lips, before pointing at the figures gathered at the shoreline. Whoever they were weren't trying to keep quiet, they were laughing, and she heard someone complain about water ruining his boots.

It was several minutes before they stopped fooling around – they were alert and focused on the water, while Hermione was entirely focused on them. She was trying to see if there was a hierarchy, or if they were concerned about being seen.

They were completely oblivious to the fact that they were surrounded on land.

One of them turned briefly, and the moonlight shone directly onto his face for barely a moment, but it was enough to identify him.

 _Yaxley. Corban Yaxley._

Hermione gasped. She would know that face anywhere. While younger, his features were still incredibly blunt, and that jaw-line was unmistakable. The last time she saw him was at the battle of Hogwarts, and she had _bombarda_ ed his chest open – a handy little trick she'd picked up from an off-hand comment from an Order meeting in The Burrow.

"The blond man on the left," she said in a barely audible whisper to Albus, "Works for Riddle. He might be involved in this after all."

"Interesting," Albus murmured back. "Avoid killing him, we don't want to change anything."

A few more minutes passed, and at last, a boat started rising from the water, achingly slowly. It was covered in grime and seaweed, almost as if it spent most of its time under water. The only thing similar she could think of was the Durmstrang boat from the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Or-

"Harry," she breathed, recalling what he said about the cave Professor Dumbledore had taken him to to locate one of Voldemort's horcruxes.

"Sorry?" Albus asked.

Realising her mistake, Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. But I think this boat thing is Riddle's design. It's…familiar. These people are dangerous, Albus-" she turned to look at him. "Very dangerous."

"I'll take your word for it."

Hermione focused on the figures once again. They were finally unloading their cargo from the old boat – a rather nondescript, large wooden crate, but even she could feel a waft of dark magic in the air as they were placed on land. It sent a shiver down her spine, yet it was so familiar.

Whatever was in it was positively fermenting in darkness.

"And it's show time, I do believe," Albus hummed, straightening from his crouched position.

Across the shore, Hermione saw Roderick Smith emerge from the shrubs, holding an official looking Ministry scroll in his hands. His walk was stiff, and authoritative, and she could see him holding his wand tightly.

Within moments, Albus had joined Roderick, and the rest of the assortment of the Order joined a moment later. Hermione herself chose to stick close to Alastor – she didn't exactly want to be remembered if Corban Yaxley was here. She remembered him as a particularly vile, antagonistic man who essentially ran the Ministry during the take-over. As with everyone else she recognised here, it was odd to see him so young.

By now, the smugglers realised they had company, and had turned, wands raised threateningly. They were poised to curse.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Roderick said calmly. "I have a warrant here for an inspection for the goods you're handling." He held out the scroll, and from her view behind the Order, she saw Corban step forward. He read the warrant with a lighted wand tip, frowning slightly.

"Boys, you heard Mr. Smith," he said coolly, stepping aside to let Roderick pass. "Dumbledore, fancy seeing you here."

"Good evening, Mr. Yaxley," Albus said as he went to follow Roderick, but Corban placed a hand on the older man's chest.

"Uh uh," he admonished, "That warrant is for Ministry employees. You, Professor, work at a school, do you not?"

His smile was unnerving, and the shadows made it more so. _Of course, he's a lawyer_ , Hermione remembered. She hoped this was a Ministry sanctioned bust and not anything dodgy – the Order was never exactly legal, even when she was in it.

"Of course," Albus replied, "I'm merely here on an academic level, to identify any dangers-"

"Bullshit," one of the other smugglers chuckled in disbelief, which elicited a similar response from the rest of the group.

Hermione noticed a change in the atmosphere, and she gripped her wand tighter. She started looking around at the environment to see what she could use with her spells in case it came down to a fight. Sand could be useful, and the water.

"You look like you're plotting murder, Princess," Alastor whispered from her left, flashing her a grin.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "'Princess'?" she asked at the term of endearment. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of a mental image of Mad-Eye calling _anyone_ princess and not meaning it as an insult. "And no, not murder. Just a bit of destruction."

"They are itching for a fight," he agreed.

Hermione was about to reply when she heard Roderick's voice. "Well," he said, "Unfortunately I can't let you take these, Mr. Yaxley. They-"

The chaos was instantaneous, and Hermione barely had time to react. No sooner had Roderick finished his first sentence, a bolt of red light had been aimed directly for him, and he'd ducked just in time. The smugglers were on the defensive, trying to gather around their cargo, while sending curses flying at the Order.

Everyone else jumped into the fray, but Hermione held back observing. She knew Albus needed to get to the crate to get it to the Ministry. That was the priority, that was the mission.

That she could do.

Her plans were halted, however, when a spear of green light barely missed the top of her head. "Jesus," she muttered, ducking and shooting a stunner back in retaliation. She got her usual shield charm up as the smugglers focused their attention on her. It seemed her lurking had been discovered. Heeding Albus' wishes, she didn't use anything that could result in death, but a few well-aimed _bombarda_ 's at the sand scattered the smugglers away from the crate for a few moments at least, rubbing the grit from their eyes furiously.

She looked for Albus, only to see him duelling two smugglers expertly, inching ever closer to the crate.

"Goods to the manor!" she heard Corban yell over a flurry of spells. The air was alight with brightly coloured beams from wands and shouting and movement from everyone around. Corban was trying to get his people back into line, clearly losing patience.

" _Occu-Harenae_ ," Hermione said without thinking, wanting to keep them distracted for a while yet. The spell caused the breeze to pick up, blowing sand directly upwards into the eyes of the smugglers without mercy.

"No-!" Corban yelled, blindly thrashing his way to the crate before Albus – or, indeed, any of the Order – could make it. "Carrow, Tony – hurry!"

The smugglers started firing spells randomly. Hermione saw one of the Order members take a fall, but Alastor evened the score with a well-placed stunner.

" _Stupefy_!" Hermione yelled as a smuggler appeared on her right. He hit the sand hard, and she ran forward, yanking Alastor and another Order member with her. She summoned over the body of the stunned Order member she'd seen before. At least, she hoped he was only stunned. They had finally created a barrier between the crate and the smugglers. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," she growled as killing curses started flying from Corban's wand – clearly he had realised her play.

"Step away Smith – Dumbledore-" Corban yelled while shooting off more spells. "No one else needs to get hurt, we just require that crate-"

"Oh, shut up, Yaxley," Hermione snapped, sick of that smarmy voice. She had been forced to endure it for far too long when she broke into the Ministry years ago as Mafalda Hopkirk. Clearly, he had always been an arrogant bastard. " _Murus arenae_." A thin line of sand gathered between groups like a wall, turning the smugglers into nothing more than fuzzy figures from Hermione's perspective. While it didn't prevent the onslaught of irritated spells being shot at them, it certainly weakened them.

" _Cessabitae_!" Corban shouted angrily, bringing the wall down.

 _Well that's just rude_ , Hermione thought, holding up her _protego_ shield to deflect a stunning spell. "Albus, get going!" she yelled over her shoulder.

"Don't you dare, Dumbledore-"

" _Silencio_!" Hermione yelled. The others were fighting once more, and Corban had his attention focused entirely on her. His eyes bulged when he realised she had silenced him.

"We need another wall," Albus said hurriedly, "I can't apparate and defend at the same time, and this crate requires power to move."

" _Protego!_ " she screeched as Corban utilised non-verbal magic against her. She had an idea. It was mad, as hers usually were, but they could all disapparate to Hogsbend safely without being bombarded with spells. She shot a few stunners at the smugglers closest to her, before running to the edge of the group, ducking from killing curses, as well as Merlin-knows-what.

"Moody, get back!" she yelled, seeing Alastor diving too far forward in his duel.

"Jean-?!" he began to say, but Hermione cut across him. "Back! Now!"

"What are you doing-?!" Roderick demanded, but Hermione paid him no heed. She knew there was only one wall that could provide the safety they needed, and allow her time to look at the boat for a moment.

She took a deep breath, hoping using dark magic was fine with Albus.

" _Feindfyre_ ," she said softly, letting all tension go from her body. She cast the flame from her wand, directing it into a single, thin straight line between the duelling parties. Within moments, its signature smell permeated the air as the flames grew higher. Rotting flesh. It wasn't pleasant, but no spell could pass through it. Nor could anyone else douse the flames.

She sent the tips of the flames to the right, to force the smugglers back, and she could hear them cursing beyond the roar.

"Ya mad, girly?!" the Irish Order member demanded. "Ya tryin' ta kill us all?!"

"Perfectly sane – go!" Hermione ordered calmly, keeping her focus entirely on the fire. She saw the Order members slowly disappear one by one; Albus and Roderick apparating together to take the crate between them. Unless condensed or rather small, apparating with dark objects was difficult. She was glad Albus had help.

With the Order gone, and Corban having ordered his to clear off back to whatever manor they were using, Hermione channelled her anger. " _Finite flammara_!" she yelled, feeling the emotion coarse through her veins. Feindfyre relied on opposing emotions – calmness to conjure and control, anger to end. It was easy if you had emotional intelligence.

Alone at last, she hurried to the shoreline to see the boat. " _Lumos_ ," she murmured, trying to look at the vessel from every angle. It was nothing more than an old dinghy, and while the chain tying it to the water was invisible, the algae, barnacles and seaweed were not. "Curious," she said, before picturing the bridge clearly in her mind and disapparating with a _crack._

* * *

 _19th September, 1957_

 _Hogsbend Bridge_

She re-appeared amongst a heated conversation, clearly about her. She was standing behind Albus and slowly stepped forward into the light, although the arguing wizards were oblivious to her presence.

"-Don't know what kind of game you're playing, Albus, but no one uses that spell-"

"-I assure you, Ms. Gray acted appropriately-"

"-'Appropriately', my foot, man! It-"

"-Justice, I know Jean, she's the lady Scrimgeour keeps raving about-"

"-I don't care, boy! Every single one of us could have died-"

Hermione rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. "Just because you're too incompetent to handle _Fyre_ correctly doesn't mean we're all useless," she said curtly. "We got out, did we not? We got the crate, did we not? I fail to see what the problem is, gentlemen," she said bluntly. She shook her head at them, and strode towards the crate, shooing Albus out of the way as she levitated the top off.

The dark magic was almost overwhelming – she'd become weaker since arriving in 1957. It was like a drug; constant closeness lessened the nauseous effects, but two and a half months without had rendered her no longer immune. " _Lumos_ ," she murmured, trying to get a good look inside.

She saw skulls, books and cursed trinkets – including that cursed necklace that had nearly killed Katie Bell. It was disheartening to know that despite Albus taking this haul to the Ministry, it would end up in Knockturn Alley at some point anyway.

Carefully, she levitated out what seemed like a mass of black. Under her wandlight and with the added advantage of the moon, she saw whatever it was was shining. It reminded her of polished stone.

"No way," she breathed, realising what she was looking at. She'd only ever read out them before – even her Department didn't have a real one for reference.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Roderick demanded angrily, but Albus and Alastor shushed him. "Do you even know what that is? That could be dangerous, you can't-"

"Do you know what it is?" Hermione challenged him, turning around furiously. "Because I do."

He gaped at her, frowning before his eyes started darting between her and the ball. "You tell me if you're so bloody competent," he snapped after a minute.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm a bit tired after conjuring that fyre," she said lazily. She'd had enough sexism for one day. "Albus, I'm taking this as my payment. Goodnight, gentlemen." She reached to the levitating ball and grabbed it, her hand closing around it perfectly, before stalking back into the village.

In her hand, she now held one of the most incredibly valuable and dangerous items she'd ever held – a black sapphire orb. It was one of the few divination tools she trusted, although she hadn't a clue how to use it. A Seer, however, would.

Maybe then she could find out when – or if – she could get home.

After sneaking back into her room at The Three Broomsticks, she spent the next hour creating a replica of the safes they used in her Department. Tools to tell the future were dangerous in the wrong hands, and with Riddle clearly on the rise, she needed to keep this precious orb protected.

Just as she crawled into bed, a note appeared in front of her in a flash of fire.

 _Welcome to the Order. Smith isn't happy, which I'm sure was your intention. Everyone else is mildly wary, and I believe young Alastor is smitten._

 _Very well done tonight, Jean. Fyre was a stroke of genius._

 _AD._

 _PS: What did you take?_

Hermione waved over a quill and ink, and reached for some scrap parchment from her bedside table. She was familiar with the spell Albus had used to send the letter, and intended to reply the same way.

 _Many thanks for the invite. It's a black sapphire orb. I'm going to see if it can help me out of my predicament._

 _Jean._

With a tap of her wand and a murmured spell, the parchment disappeared, and Hermione fell asleep feeling much more like herself than she had in a while.

* * *

 _1st July, 2001_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Minerva shook her head. "So what you are saying," she said slowly, "Is that as of this date, you don't know how she was brought back."

Saul nodded. "Aye."

"So how do we know this memo is even real, then?" she demanded. "There were Death Eaters after her, Death Eaters in the Ministry – possibly in this Department – maybe that cover-story was the truth? And she's really-?" Minerva refused to say the end of that question. Despite the Ministry's incompetence, Yelena had no reason to lie on that memo. It was time-locked by her, and there was no way she worked for Riddle. Jean had done everything in her power to protect this Department from his clutches.

While Minerva regained her composure, Kingsley cleared his throat. "And how do you two propose we break this to her friends? _I'm_ her friend, and even I'm at a loss for words over this. The Weasley's, Potter-"

"-Will be fine, she wrote them a letter," Minerva said, a small smile on her face. "It's the questions from those who lost loved ones over the years that I'm worried about; Susie and John, Pippa, Belle, Milly, Malcolm, even Poppy-"

"Ah!" Saul said brightly, "I can help with that. We've found it best to hold a class on time-travel basics to select nominated people close to the traveller-"

"Yes, I know, my mentor wrote the material," Minerva informed him. "She also… She…" Silence fell as Minerva's mouth opened slightly in confusion and her brow relaxed, then furrowed ever so slightly. "Oh, Gods," she breathed, thinking of Perri.

The lack of answers, no paper-trail of Jean's return, collected by _someone she recognised_. "Professor Croaker, I'm sorry," she said, her voice sounding quite far away, "But I don't believe that this is your investigation."

She felt in a daze as she stood up. Her skin had erupted in goosepimples and her breathing was shallow. "Arrange the time-travel information session for friends and family," she said vaguely. "Get Rufus to tell you Jean's friends – Minister, you know who Hermione associated with. I…" she took a deep breath. "I'll be in touch. Do excuse me."

Ignoring the calls for her to return, Minerva swept from the room in a flurry of robes.

* * *

Please review! And I hope you all are enjoying the festive season. x


	11. Alliances

**Chapter 11: Alliances**

 _30th September, 1957_

 _Knockturn Alley_

The last time Hermione had set foot in this particular location, she had made a complete fool of herself. It was one of those embarrassing moments her mind liked to replay over and over during her bouts of insomnia and it still made her cringe; the look on Mr. Borgin's face when she stammered out her false story of Draco being a friend of hers and how she was searching for a birthday present for him would probably never _not_ make her flush with horror.

This time, however, she had a legitimate reason to enter Mr. Borgin's establishment. She needed a Seer, and unfortunately, most were averse to using her newly acquired tool for Seeing the future. Albus explained that Grindelwald's use of prophecy had marred the entire concept with dark connotations, and as such, Seers were now distrusted by the general wizarding populace.

Coming to this side of town seemed to be the most logical thing to do. She knew Borgin would drive a hard bargain for information, but really, her greatest concern would be running into Tom Riddle, and somehow managing to resist the urge to _Avada_ him back to Hades. Knowing he already had at least one Horcrux in play was what kept her from doing anything rash, as her actions would be futile.

Wondering how she'd gone from a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor to a woman skulking around the dark part of town with a transfigured face and hairstyle, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door to Mr. Borgin's shop. A bell jingled above, announcing her presence, and her eyes automatically narrowed in on the counter. She almost felt like weeping with relief to seeshe didn't recognise the man behind the counter at all; it wasn't the proprietor, and it certainly wasn't Riddle. Summoning up her courage, she let her cloak billow behind her as she approached him, slowly taking down her hood. She'd applied several glamour transfigurations to her appearance, making her skin much paler, and changing her dark brown hair to an almost unnatural red. Her nose was longer, and cheeks more hollow. Given her little skirmish with Yaxley earlier in the month, she didn't want to risk being recognised by anyone who frequented Knockturn Alley.

She also knew that Borgin often had his clients followed if they were new to his establishment, and really, Hermione Granger was a rather private person. Jean Gray was also. Just a simple barmaid, certainly not someone who would be found lurking around these parts.

"May I help you, Madam?"

The shop assistant was a young man around Hermione's age, who was wearing expensively tailored robes that did not match his waif-like appearance. Deciding to ponder that at a later point, Hermione turned her nose up at him, as she had seen Narcissa Malfoy do to her many a time. "Is Borgin in?" she asked haughtily.

"Out on business," the man stated. "Anything in particular you're after? Or I can schedule an appointment?"

 _Just my luck_ , Hermione thought irritatedly. After giving him another glance over – he certainly didn't match any of the descriptions she'd read of what Tom Riddle looked like pre-Voldemort – she weighed her options. All she needed was a name. And she really didn't want her name appearing in any of Borgin's log books, so that ruled out the appointment option. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

The young man smiled. "Could be days, could be minutes, you never know with him."

"Right," Hermione said curtly, with a roll of her eyes. "Well, here's your chance to make a few extra galleons – I need the name of a Seer, and not one of those tramps outside with their card tricks."

"A Seer," the man said slowly, cocking his head to the side. "Now what would you want to see a Seer for?"

Hermione scoffed. "Maybe I want to see the future."

He beckoned at the small bag Hermione was carrying. Keeping with the act – truthfully, she preferred this one rather than a barmaid – she exhaled sharply before handing over three gold pieces. She knew it was probably too much and a dead end, but she couldn't feel bad – he looked like he needed a good meal.

After sniffing all three pieces, he turned his attention back to the disguised Hermione. "I'm afraid anyone remotely competent fled to Sweden in the aftermath of the war and seem to prefer living there compared to this squalid place," he informed her dryly. "However," he continued, "I've heard a rumour that one of the Trelawney sisters is doing a tour next year, in the hopes of removing the stigma our dear Gellert left behind."

Wrinkling her nose, Hermione made a grunt before turning on her heel and stalking from the shop, assuming that's how Madam Malfoy would act at being told unsavoury news. A falsely cheery, "Have a good day, Madam!" followed her as the door slammed shut and she was back on the putrid street. Knockturn Alley was not a pleasant place, and she hurried out, avoiding the tramps and hags trying to haggle her. She swore she saw a body – dead or unconscious, she wasn't sure – slumped against the walls of a side street, but she didn't stop to see. From what she'd picked up from overhearing conversations at the Broomsticks, it's that you keep your nose to yourself in these parts. Nevertheless, she was certainly put off food for the remainder of the day.

After she left Wizarding London, she quickly removed her various glamours in a muggle public toilet, before disapparating for Hogsmeade. As she hurried up to her little room, feeling rather dejected that even the dodgy side of town didn't know anyone with the Inner Eye, she was at least happy that she had made the trip to London that day. In her pocket, she had Minerva's birthday present safety wrapped and tucked away.

Truthfully, she hadn't known what to get her new friend. Not only had Minerva essentially saved her life, she'd also opened up her arms and welcomed 'Jean' into her life gladly, sharing her friends and making sure to check in every few days. A simple book was nowhere near good enough, as had been her initial plan, however a stunning brooch in the shape of a cat, Hermione thought upon seeing it as she'd strolled lazily through Muggle London prior to her trip to the wizarding sector. Silver with jade green eyes, Hermione didn't even care what the price of the piece was. What else was she going to spend her money on? She rarely paid for food, board was taken from her wages and her trick with buying cheap clothes was sprucing them up with a bit of magic.

She was still very much looking forward to women's pants becoming more widely available. Or, if she was still trapped here in the 60's, miniskirts. While she'd never worn anything like that in her own Time, she was rather bored of long skirts in this heat, Although she hoped she was gone by then.

Once more cursing the future for taking their merry time to come and get her, she changed into the blue and white checked dress she wore for work and headed down to the bar. It should be an easy shift – she'd grown rather fond of how quiet the place was now that Hogwarts was in session. No more rowdy teenagers trying to order firewhiskeys, claiming they were of age, or trying to flirt to get their way.

The usual drunks shifted a bit when she came behind the bar. Unlike Rosmerta, who was more than happy to charm customers out of their sickles, she had garnered a bit of a reputation of adhering to regulations and not serving alcohol to the inebriated, a notion seemed radical for the regulars.

To be fair, she'd learned a lot from these customers. In fact, that was one of the few things she liked about the job – the gossip, the news she would overhear from customers was incredible. She had briefly wondered if Rosmerta had ever worked for the Order in her time as a spy, because the _things_ people said despite the barkeep being within earshot was shameless. It's like she wasn't even there, and Hermione liked being able to keep an ear out for familiar names.

Last week, the main topic had been whether the marriage between Cygnus and Walburga Black was, in fact, legal. As one customer had said loudly, "They already have the same last name, surely even the muggles don't partake in that level of incest." Hermione had struggled to snort, and busied herself straightening the glasses under the bar to hide her stifled laughter.

This weeks' various topics, as Rosmerta and Maude, who was one of the new waitresses, had told her after closing drinks, was that an illegal potion brewer had been busted by the Aurors. Speculation over what they had brewed was rife, ranging from Polyjuice, Veritaserum to a poisoned batch of Pepper-Up. She'd also overheard from two Aurors that a muggleborn had shown up at St. Mungo's having had her memory wiped. The biggest news, however, was that the recently divorced Lloyd Wagtail had recently bought a manor in the Hogsmeade Hills now that his son had started at Hogwarts, and the local witches were _very excited_. While Hermione didn't understand the obsession with the singer, she guessed he was the Wizarding World's answer to Elvis Presley. Really, the only thing she knew about him was that his grandson would go on to sing for The Weird Sisters.

Shaking her head at the plan of Mrs. McGuinness to slip a love potion in a 'welcome to the neighbourhood' cake, Hermione caught sight of two rather familiar faces coming in through the front door, dressed in their Auror robes. She had to admit, they both looked good, but she was horrified that she couldn't stop her eyes from lingering on the taller of the two for too long. She grinned as they approached the bar, and asked, "On the job, or firewhiskey, gentlemen?"

"On the job, please, Miss Gray," Rufus Scrimgeour smiled, placing a few sickles on the counter – enough for two Butterbeers. Hermione didn't miss the dejected look in Edgar Bones' eyes as his Mentor placed the order.

"Of course," Hermione smiled, filling two shining glasses with the creamy amber liquid and passing them over. Unlike in her time, the added topping of whipped cream hadn't been thought of yet. To her, the glasses looked rather sad without it, but there was no way she was inventing it before it was meant to be. "Busy day?" she asked them as they took seats opposite her at the bar, finally noticing that they looked on the weary side of things.

Edgar made an affirming grunt, before folding his arms on the polished wood of the counter and laying his head across them. Rufus rolled his eyes, before explaining, "Rookie Auror Bones here is learning what it's like to play with the big boys in the force – where sleep is a privilege, not a right during murder enquires." He smirked as he took a sip of his drink.

Hermione's eyebrows rose inquisitively. "Murder?" she asked.

"Mmm," Edgar said, lifting his head up. "Have you heard any chatter in this place? Apparently, barkeeps are usually more informed about crime than we are," he said, before taking a sip of his drink. "That's what this one-" he jerked his head at Rufus, "-believes, anyway."

Hermione chuckled, and had to agree with Rufus on that one. "Haven't heard anything, sorry, boys," she said apologetically. "We deal with celebrity gossip here, and whatever is on the front page of the _Prophet_. If you want information on criminal activity, I'd suggest The Hogs Head, but the price is steep."

"We know," Edgar groaned, resting his head on his arms once more, while Rufus rolled his eyes as him.

"We'll let you get back to work, Jean," Rufus said as a few more customers approached the bar. "Come on, Bonesy, we'll get a table out front for paperwork."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh as yet another groan came from Edgar – and she certainly didn't miss the chuckle that came from Rufus, as well. Hermione beckoned the tall Auror over, and whispered, "You're enjoying tormenting him, aren't you?"

"Every second of it," he confirmed, with a wink.

Hermione chuckled, before turning to the new customers, taking their orders, sending out drinks and letting the kitchen know that more pies were needed. Feeling slightly sorry for her friends doing paperwork while so tired, she also ordered a bowl of chips on the house for them, and tried very, very hard to stop her mind from pointing out just how attractive Rufus Scrimgeour was in his tight black Auror robes. And when he smiled. And when he winked at her. And when he'd walked in, running a hand through his hair, sighing exasperatedly at whatever Edgar had said.

"Dear God, get a grip on yourself, woman," she scolded herself, and took to furiously polishing the glasses whenever there was a lull in customers. It was bad enough she had grown rather fond of Rosmerta and Minerva – even Albus, despite her best attempts to keep her distance – she didn't need to add anyone else to the list of people she'd miss when she eventually got home. Especially if they were dead.

* * *

 _3rd October, 1957_

 _Hogsmeade_

It was a few days later when she saw Rufus again – in his Auror robes once more, no less – and this time he was alone. He smiled when he saw her working behind the bar, and Hermione began to wish for pesticide to kill the damned butterflies in her stomach. Rosmerta, however, beat her to greeting him, despite currently bring several feet in the air on a ladder affixing their new updated bar rules. Hermione didn't know whether to be relieved or not.

All of these conflicting emotions were getting beyond irritating, she decided as she checked the levels of the liquor bottles to see what needed ordering. She was about to take down some notes when she heard Rufus mention her name.

"Hmm?" she asked, turning around to see him and Rosmerta looking at her.

"Rufus has some questions for you, honey," Rosmerta said. "Take your lunch break now, I'll send you out some butterbeer."

"You are too kind, Ros," Rufus said, before turning to Hermione. "Private booth ok with you, Jean? I'd prefer it if we're not overheard."

Hermione's eyebrows raised as she stepped out from behind the bar, following him around to the back dining room. "Auror business?" she asked innocently.

"Yes and no," Rufus said, waiting for her to take a seat before he took his own. "Depends on your answer to my next question – why is Justice Roderick Smith requesting a look at your file?"

He was scrutinising her reactions, she could just tell. Hermione leaned back in her chair, deciding how best to answer. Lie? Tell the truth? Tell part of the truth? She realised that if she kept on working along-side Albus, she needed to learn more about his other associates.

Looking uncomfortable, Rufus leaned forward and said softly, "Jean, this isn't an interrogation. Rod only ever requests information on people who have new alliances with Albus Dumbledore. I know Minerva loves the man, but believe me when I say Albus Dumbledore is dangerous. I don't want you getting caught up in anything."

It took Hermione a moment to process what Rufus had said. She decided to ponder Roderick's loyalties later, and focus on Rufus's last statement. "Rufus," she said sweetly, squeezing his hand for a moment across the table, "It's wonderful that you care, but I'm fine. Albus and I have an understanding, and Roderick just doesn't approve of my methods when it comes to spell-casting."

Rufus nodded slowly. "You are quite unique, from what I recall," he said, with a wry smile. "A traditionalist man like Rod would call that 'dangerous'." He sighed, before continuing, "I mean this in the nicest way possible – you're too much of a nobody to have your name being known amongst Rod and his ilk. I mean," he said hastily, at Hermione's outraged expression, "You've just moved here, with no family ties to Wizarding Britain at all, yet Albus Dumbeldore – a man notorious for undermining the Ministry and having a knack for spotting dangerous talent and swaying it to his side – has already taken you under his wing, from practically the moment you arrived. To Rod, that's very suspicious."

Hermione bristled, but knew it was a fair call for an Auror to make. She knew that Rufus was damned good at his job, and clearly had been from day one. She wasn't quite sure what she was meant to say in her defence. Why would Albus become friends with a stranger so quickly?

 _Morgana help me_ , she thought, as an idea formed. "Albus and I have known each other for a while now," she lied through her teeth with a smile. "He knew one of my tutors in France and we met briefly a few years ago. When my parents died and I decided to travel, Madame Coithilde told me to write to Albus should I ever need a friend. And voila, here we are."

She was almost furious at herself for the lies coming so easily. Almost.

"Oh," Rufus said brightly, surprised but clearly some of his worries had abated. "Oh. Well then. Good. That's good. So it's not as brand new as it seems."

"Correct," Hermione smiled. "Madame Coithilde always spoke most highly of Albus, and according to him, she'd spoken of me fairly often, as well. It's almost as if he and I have known each other for years."

At that moment, their butterbeers arrived. Truthfully, without the cream, they were awfully strong, but there was nothing Hermione could do except put up with the strong butterscotch taste. She took a very small sip as Rufus did the same.

"Well, hopefully that new bit of information will keep Rod out of your business for a while," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Hermione smiled. "If he does continue being a pest, let me know and I'll handle it," she said. "But trust me, he wont find anything on me. I'm really not that interesting."

" _That_ is an understatement, Miss Gray – I happen to find you rather fascinating," he informed her, before finishing the rest of his drink in a rush. "I do, however, have to get back to work-"

"Oh," Hermione said, far too quickly to prevent the disappointment seeping into her tone. She was rather curious to find out why Rufus didn't trust Albus – and why he found her 'fascinating'. That had been unexpected.

"But," he said, pulling his cloak back on, "I will see you at the birthday party Ros is planning for Min?"

"Of course," Hermione said, standing up and straightening the black wiggle dress she had on. "I mean, I do kind of live at the venue, so it'd be rather rude not to," she joked as they walked back to the front of the bar.

"I do apologise if I came off too harsh," he added as they neared the door. "I'm really here just as a concerned friend. And I would very much like to be your friend, Jean."

 _Oh, 1950's etiquette, you awkward thing_ , Hermione thought. Her life up until June, friendships just _happened_ without her even realising it. Now, she had to get used to stating her intent – and others stating theirs. Truthfully, she wasn't very good at it. It sounded too cheesy, like something she'd see in a film. She had to remind herself she was practically living in one – or, at least, a modern historical documentary.

"Well, _friend_ ," she said to Rufus, rather pleased that she managed to elicit a smile from him at that, "Concern is noted. I'll try and behave myself. You should get going, though," she insisted, "We can talk more over the weekend."

As he left, Hermione mulled over his words. He was right – for a newcomer to already be tangled up in Albus Dumbledore's world, it was strange. For one of the Justice Chief's of the Wizengamot to be asking about her history would also be seen as strange. Merlin, why had she let herself get so close to Albus and his secretive ways? She should had known it would end badly, yet the appeal of using her brain for a change won her over. _Damn you, Albus Dumbledore_ , she thought as she hurried up to her room for the last 10 minutes of her break.

She penned a letter to the infuriating man, informing him that he and 'Jean' had known each other for years through her old tutor. _He can't complain_ , Hermione thought, _he's the reason I'm in this mess_. After placing the letter in an envelope and sealing it, she tapped it with her wand, and watched it vanish into thin air as she directed it to reappear in Albus's office.

Despite her job at home, and all of her Hogwarts escapades prior with Harry and Ron, Hermione wasn't one to lie to her friends. And if what she knew of the Rufus Scrimgeour was true, then one day, sooner or later, she'd slip up and he'd notice. How could she ever explain the truth to him? Or to Rosmerta? Or Alastor?

She got even more annoyed as she realised she had this internal conversation with herself on a near-daily basis. It was driving her mad. Every time she felt comfortable with her new life as Jean, that little voice in her head just had to remind her that it was all a sham. The sooner she found a way home, the better.

Maybe she would return to Knockturn Alley and ask a few more questions – to Mr. Borgin, this time. Not only about a Seer, she decided, but about Dark magic books on time-travel. She'd wanted to avoid that route – Merlin, she wasn't even sure how far the underside of Wizarding society had progressed with Time Magic – but picking apart dark magic was what she was good at. She'd find a way to make it work.

All she needed was more money, or something else to bargain with.

"You alright, love?" Rosmerta asked, breaking her out of her darkening thoughts as she polished and repolished the same goblet over and over.

Hermione snapped out of her trance and hastily put the goblet back on the shelf behind the bar. She barely even remembered descending the stairs to return to her shift. "Yeah – fine – sorry," she said, shaking her head at her own stupidity. "In my own little world here."

"Clearly," Rosmerta laughed, patting her on the head as she passed to head to the store, which elicited laughter from the patrons sitting close by.

Blushing, Hermione quickly checked what orders needed to go out. As she filled several pitchers with ale, her mind was lost in history of upcoming events and scandals in the Wizarding World that she knew of. If she could give Borgin a way to make more money because of a tip-off for his betting business, he might be more inclined to help her. Or, at least, make a deal.

* * *

 _5th October, 1957_

 _Hogsmeade_

As she sipped on a martini in the far corner of the function room at the Broomsticks, Hermione sighed contentedly, liking that the alcohol let her worries drift away. _I really should drink more often_ , she thought, taking another welcome sip.

Despite Rosmerta planning this as a _surprise_ party for Minerva's birthday, word had unfortunately reached the guest of honour as she had stopped by the bar earlier in the day and requested a few extra invites for some of the Hogwarts faculty, which had caused Rosmerta to swear all hell on who told, and Hermione to watch on with a smirk that clearly screamed, 'I told you so,' at the blonde barmaid.

As such, most of Minerva's friends were now being implored by their former Hogwarts Professor's to say what they've all been up to since Graduation. Horace Slughorn, Hermione could see, was even taking notes, and lamenting that he regretted not inviting more of those present to his little dinner parties. "It's such a _small_ room, you know," he explained dramatically to Rufus and Poppy, who were both listening politely, "And Armando – _still ill_ , poor man – _refuses_ to allow me to extend it any further, you see…"

Hermione heard a snort behind her and turned to see Ingrid Scrimgeour watching the same dramatic tale as she was. "Be grateful you didn't get taught by Old Sluggy, Jean," Ingrid said, sitting on the bar stool next to Hermione, "He spends more time name-dropping than teaching. It's pathetic."

"You weren't a part of this dinner party group, I take it?" Hermione asked politely.

"No, nor was brother dear," she said, "He only likes the pure-bloods." She crinkled her nose as she finished speaking, yet Hermione was surprised – the Horace Slughorn she knew wasn't a blood supremacist. A collector of talent, yes, but he'd been more than happy to invite _her_ to the Slug Club. She wondered what made him change his views.

"Well, that rules me out, then," Hermione scoffed. "Rufus looks like he's having the time of his life," she added dryly, trying not to laugh at how drained Rufus looked while talking to his former Professor. He seemed rather desperate to escape. Poppy looked like she was chewing her tongue to stop herself from saying something she'd regret.

Ingrid snickered. "He does, doesn't he?"

The two women laughed at his plight, which did not go unnoticed by him, and he shot Ingrid a glare from across the room.

"Honestly," Ingrid said conspiratorially to Hermione, "The minute Sluggy tried talking to me before, I started droning on and on about how much more I enjoy working in London Hospital then I did at St. Mungo's. He finds muggle medicine inferior," she explained with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, I hate people who think like that," Hermione muttered darkly. "So you work in muggle London? I thought you were a Healer?"

"It's 'nurse' now," Ingrid said, a proud smile crossing her rep lips. "Better pay, better people, better _safety regulations_ ," she added pointedly. "I left Mungo's a few weeks ago; awful place."

Hermione had heard of witches and wizards of full or partial muggle descent returning to the muggle world exclusively after receiving their magical education, although she'd never met anyone who'd actually gone through with it. She couldn't help but wonder what was so bad about St. Mungo's that would cause Ingrid to go muggle. The 'better pay' comment, however, intrigued her. She hadn't really thought much about money while she was here – she was just grateful to have a job. She decided to ponder that once this party was over. "Well, I'm glad you're happier now," Hermione said kindly. "There's nothing wrong with being muggle."

"Hear, hear," a grinning Minerva proclaimed as she passed them both. Despite being the reason so many people were gathered, Hermione had seen little of her since this party had begun. "Enjoying yourselves, ladies? Jean, your present – my gosh, I love it, I absolutely love it. And Ingrid!" Minerva continued before Hermione could even begin to reply, as she pulled the nurse into a tight hug, " _You_ bought Kit with you? The bitch told me she couldn't come home for another two months!"

"Surprise," Ingrid giggled, hugging her friend back. "You didn't think Ros planned this all alone, did you?"

Minerva laughed, before turning to Hermione, grinning. "Ingrid is honestly the nicest Slytherin you'll ever meet, Jeanie. I still think you were in the wrong house," she added, turning back to Ingrid and mock-glaring.

"You forget my cunning, darling Min," Ingrid replied sweetly. "Oh, look, Rufus is free." She shot a smirk to Hermione, who laughed as Rufus all but ran to the table of alcoholic drinks Hermione had laid out earlier.

Minerva hummed, twisting her lips. "I think it's time for me to tell Albus that it's past their bed-time. Maybe inviting them was a bad idea-"

"No, no!" Ingrid protested, "I want to see more drunk Miss Hooch! You know she practically _drooled_ when Kitty got here-"

Hermione found herself zoning out as more names were mentioned that she didn't recognise. Her eyes drifted around the room, resting on Rufus briefly, who was talking seriously with Milly Bagnold, then Edgar and Alastor, who seemed to be challenging each other to shots of gigglewater – _to think, it took Voldemort himself to kill those two idiots_ , Hermione thought fondly – and finally to Albus, who, like Hermione, was people-watching, carefully reading everyone in the room.

Hermione was still unsure what to make of Albus Dumbledore. He was quite different to what she expected. She'd read Rita Skeeter's book, as had almost everyone, yet with Albus, she was sure that even Skeeter was unable to uncover everything about the man. He had too many secrets, too many alliances and acquaintances, friends who were somebody's, and some who were nobody's – she wasn't quite sure what category she belonged in in this era. Even in her own time, she wasn't sure what the Headmaster had thought of her other than Harry's smart friend; the one who saved his arse too many times to count. She'd always trusted him blindly, but after learning most of the fact after the war, she saw him differently.

Right now, she wasn't sure what she was to him. She often wondered, if this time-travel business she'd gotten herself caught up in was indeed a loop, did Albus recognise her when she came to Hogwarts in 1991? Did Minerva? Did they know what was going to happen? Was she also a pawn on Albus's grand chessboard because he knew what she was capable of because she'd already done it?

That thought didn't sit at all well with her.

Professor Dumbledore may have been a manipulative old coot, but _Albus_ … Albus made her understand how his older self still had so much power over people. He was persuasive, kind and endearing. It puzzled her as to why Rufus was so adamant he was dangerous. Her history books had told her that Albus Dumbledore was credited with saving the entire world from Grindelwald, was respected by many Ministers for Magic, presided over the Wizengamot, held an Order of Merlin… She had to know if she was missing something, or if she was getting involved in a Dumbledore-esque chess game. She'd like to think she was too smart to be fooled, but sometimes it took her a while to realise when something wasn't quite right.

Deciding to take advantage of him being alone, so to speak, Hermione quietly excused herself from Minerva and Ingrid – the former promising that they'd chat properly later – and made her way over to the acting-Headmaster. As she neared him, she caught his eye and beckoned him to follow her out into the gardens. She was smiling at him, but it slightly forced. The second the door was closed behind them, Hermione turned to him. "Why am I being told by a concerned friend that you're dangerous to associate with?" she asked, frowning slightly. "Have I missed something? Did you not defeat Grindelwald twelve years ago?"

Albus sighed, placing his arm around her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze. "Oh, my dear Jean," he said heavily, "There are _many_ people who think I'm dangerous." He shook his head, before continuing. "Magical legislators think I'm too progressive and radical, Aurors rarely accept my version of events, the elite of magical society believe me a traitor to the wizarding world… It's all a matter of perspective. Although it is rather sweet that Mr. Scrimgeour is concerned," he added, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his correct assumption.

"Ah, so it was him?" Albus remarked, giving a self-satisfied smile. "I must confess, I was only guessing. But he did have a similar talk with Minerva when she started working for me last year. Needless to say, Alastor knows to keep our acquaintance quiet."

"My history books have been kind to you, Albus," she said, not letting him lead her away from the topic at hand "But history is written by the victor. I _hope_ ," she stressed, "That his concerns are unfounded. Is his distaste because he is an Auror? Or did you fail him in Transfiguration?" she joked as they sat on a chair under the gazebo.

"The former," Albus answered. "A man who openly admitted to not liking me sewed distrust throughout the entire Department many years ago. Unfortunately, the stigma never left, despite my accomplishments amidst their failures. Rufus Scrimgeour puts honour first, Jean," he sighed. "He is a an Auror through and through, and would never break ranks with his superiors, rising star that he is. He is also exceedingly protective of the women in his life, almost to a fault."

Nodding, Hermione thought that that was an astute description. "Apparently one of your friends from the Dark artefacts bust the other week was asking about me around the office," she explained. "You might want to tell Roderick to keep his nose to himself. I don't want a reputation, Albus – I just want to be invisible while I'm stuck here." She was unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice for the final two words.

Albus gave a sympathetic hum. "I have a friend who I think you should talk to. Unfortunately she wont be in Great Britain any time soon, but you can write." He reached into his coat pocket for a piece of parchment and a quill. "Her name is secret-kept from messenger birds," he explained as he wrote something down, "But once you've read this, you can summon any crow to deliver a letter."

As soon as she read his loopy handwriting, the ink vanished from the parchment in a puff of smoke, as if the name _Perenelle Flamel_ had never been written there.

"What do you know of Madame Flamel?" Albus asked.

"Not much," Hermione admitted with a shrug, "It's Nicolas who is – _was_ – _will be?_ – famous."

To her surprise, Albus let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, she will be pleased to know that – Perri does _hate_ being noted in history books. She's a Seer, though, so she might have some answers for you," he smiled.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a rather large glimmer of hope at this new revelation. At least she didn't have to sell her soul to Mr. Borgin any time soon, if Perenelle was willing to help. She didn't think Albus would recommend her if she wasn't. Perhaps he'd already written and asked her? "When's she back in the country?" she asked.

"A year," Albus answered, "She travels a lot. Now," he said, standing up and offering her his hand, "I do believe we are about to have a newly turned twenty-three year old berating us both for being anti-social at her party."

Indeed, as Hermione took Albus's hand and stood up, she saw Minerva waving them back to the bar, shaking her head at them. "Honestly, you two," Minerva said, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh – the amount of times she'd said that to Ron and Harry in the exact same tone.

"Sorry, birthday girl," Hermione said as she reached her friend. Albus offered his own apologies before heading inside ahead of them, muttering something along the lines of 'giving privacy'.

"I swear he can read minds," Minerva muttered, before promptly linking their arms and nuding Hermione with her shoulder. "Ros told me how much work you put into setting up, so thank you," she said quietly. "Don't tell a soul, but I'm really touched you all tried so hard to keep it a surprise for me."

"Our failure was inevitable," Hermione conceded fairly. "But your secret's safe."

"Good!" Minerva said brightly, with a grin. "Now, come on, there's cake, Edgar is trying to pay Rufus to let him come in late tomorrow morning, and I _think_ Rolanda is trying to see if she's legally allowed to make a pass at a former student. She's arguing with Sluggy – sorry, _Horace_ – about it, anyway," she said with a shake of her head.

Hermione was silent for a moment, before laughing in disbelief. Madam Hooch – or, _Miss Hooch_ , as she was currently called – had always scared her slightly. She had to see this situation for herself. Of the few teachers that were the same in her time, Rolanda Hooch was the only one who looked near identical. In fact, Hermione originally wondered if the woman had aged at all.

"Oh, and Milly and Poppy think it's high time we set you up with someone," Minerva added, far too lazily for it to be such a blasé statement. "So we're having a night out at a muggle dance hall next weekend - _plenty_ of men and women in uniform for us to vet for you."

Minerva's wide smile and mischievous eyes clearly said the unsaid threat; 'We will drag you there, if necessary'.

* * *

 _1st July, 2001_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Minerva's abrupt departure left Kingsley momentarily stunned. This whole meeting so far had given him a headache, and his concern for Hermione was only growing. With Minerva not divulging anything too much, and Professor Croaker seemingly in the dark about this case as well, he was at a loss of what to do exactly. There wasn't exactly a protocol for this type of situation.

"Erm," Professor Croaker said, after a while, "You probably know her better than me – is she always like that?" he asked, almost in disbelief.

It took a moment for the words to register, but Kingsley eventually nodded. "Yes," he answered, having seen her like this at the height of the war. "At times," he amended fairly. "What's, ah … what's going to happen now? If she says you're not in charge of this anymore?"

Professor Croaker sighed. "I'll keep my team on stand-by," he said. "If she's not back, or we haven't heard from her by this time tomorrow, I'll move ahead with what I was planning on doing. The Agents in St. Mungo's need answers, too," he added.

Kingsley had to agree; making sure Hermione's colleagues were able to recover from the accident was also a priority. They also had worried families waiting for news at the hospital. He was also sure that, despite the media blackout he requested, some reporters would be doing their damnedest to obtain a comment.

"How about I let you work out a list of people to brief about Time Travel, Minister," Professor Croaker suggested, breaking Kingsley out of his reprieve, "And come back down when you're done."

"Yes," the Minister said. "Good idea. I'll get on that. You, er…do…whatever it is you do, Professor." He gave the man a nod farewell and walked back to his office even more confused than when he'd left it an hour ago.

* * *

Sending love! Please review! x


	12. A Night Out

_4th November, 1957_

 _Department of Mysteries_

"I almost don't want you to go," Minerva murmured as she and Hermione sat in the waiting room of the Time Department, both relishing in the warmth of the place compared to the icy weather out in London. "It's been such fun having you here, Jean."

Hermione smiled, despite feeling guilt at Minerva's optimism, and lack of her own. She hadn't been holding any sort of hope for today's meeting with Yelena Artlock. Nothing whatsoever, from her knowledge of history or fairly solid gut instincts, gave her the impression the Time Department had created a way to take her back home. If they had, she would have assumed it would have happened within days of her arrival, instead of waiting around until her first Ministry check-in. It just seemed far too reckless.

"Even if Station's Pier was a disaster," Minerva continued with a guilty smile. "Even I couldn't have known it was an illegal venue. It's probably good we all disapparated before we could be arrested; you're _meant_ to keep a low-profile while you're here, and I doubt Madam Artlock would approve of you getting a criminal record- Sorry, I'm rambling," Minerva sighed, running a hand through her hair. "This place just gives me the creeps."

"It's ok," Hermione said, nudging Minerva with her shoulder. "And besides," she sighed, "I have a feeling you wont be rid of me yet, so you will have plenty of more chances to end up in a muggle jail cell with me."

Minerva snorted at that, and quickly turned it into a harsh cough as the receptionist looked up at them both from his desk with a scowl. "Well, if you're right," she said quietly, "And you're still here at the end on your meeting, I'll endeavour to do my best."

"Deal, Minnie Mouse," Hermione smirked, just as Yelena Artlock appeared from around the corner and called for Jean Gray.

"Good luck," Minerva said, giving Hermione an encouraging pat on the back as she stood up to follow Yelena.

Instead of Yelena leading Hermione to her office, they continued down the hall. Hermione followed Yelena through a maze of different doors – some she even recognised from her own days working within the intertwining departments – all the while the Time Witch was explaining that she wanted to show Hermione their research so far before bothering with the paperwork and questions.

"Fine by me," Hermione said, eager to see if the department was as useless as she so far thought. Yelena had been nice enough so far, but niceness wasn't a way back to the future.

"Welcome to the Time Chamber," Yelena said as she opened yet another door. "Don't touch the Sand, who knows where you'll end up. Now, Agent Granger, let us speak plainly," she said, closing the door with a wave of her hand. Hermione heard several locks click into place, and she couldn't help but look around. While this room was vastly different to what Hermione remembered the Time Chamber looking like during her none-too-pleasant encounter, she did see the wall of time-turners she'd inevitably end up destroying in just under 40 years.

Yelena must have seen where Hermione's eyes were focused, because she chuckled and said, "Don't get any ideas – they're capable of a maximum twelve hours travel backwards, and one hour forwards. Unfortunately," she added, with a wince of sympathy.

"I know," Hermione murmured, tearing her eyes away. "You were saying?'

"Yes," Yelena said, purple robes swirling around her as she walked, "Plainly speaking, our department has never really been focused on travelling to the future. Miss Mintumble, who I'm sure you've heard of-" Hermione nodded, "-Has so far managed our largest jump forwards, but that was only because that jump was the _delayed_ equal and opposite reaction to her travelling back. Furthermore, she travelled with a device – an archaic form of a time-turner prototype – that was her anchor to her present, which allowed her to control that reaction. Are you following so far?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

"Good," Yelena smiled. "Time travel is basic physics, we just use magic to challenge the laws. The problem with _you_ is that you didn't travel with a device that allows the equal and opposite reaction to take place. Lack of device also means no anchor to your original Time to control the reaction – to make it rebound and send you home. You seem to have fallen through Time itself, through a rift or a portal-"

"There's a difference?" Hermione asked, interest piqued immediately.

Yelena smiled. "Oh, yes, there certainly is, but we're fairly protective of that information," she said. "Without a device that anchors you to where you came from," she continued, "Returning you is beyond our current capabilities. What we _are_ doing," she said reassuringly as Hermione frowned, "Is trying to understand how a rift or the like could be _intentionally_ created to send you back."

Hermione felt completely out of her depth at the turn of the conversation. She realised now that she only understood the absolute basics of time travel and time magic. Using a time-turner to do a class seemed to be barely the tip of the iceberg compared to talks of rifts and the endlessly high walls full of Merlin knows what in this room. A waterfall of sand, dozens of different time-turner designs, clocks absolutely everywhere, and sand rippling above their heads. Even the table she was standing in front of looked to her like a portal of some-sort, with the marble appearing to swirl into itself. Time travel was clearly only one element of Time magic.

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked. "I have a feeling half of what you just told me is reserved only for those who study the magic."

"Oh, it is," Yelena said lightly. "Everything said in this room is to not be repeated to anyone, I trust you understand-" Hermione nodded quickly, "-But I felt – Unspeakable to Unspeakable – you deserved a bit more than a 'Sorry, we haven't had any luck, see you again in four months'."

"That's very kind of you," Hermione said. "That still doesn't explain why the Time Department from where I'm from haven't created a way."

Yelena cocked her head to the side. "I've been thinking about that issue. There's two wars between now and where you're from, correct?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. "And a muggle one," she added fairly.

Yelena hummed. "Well, it's common practice for us to lock or destroy our research if our security is under threat. Perhaps your enemy was worthy of the latter if they were dangerous enough," she said sympathetically.

Hermione's eyes widened. All of this research could be for _nothing?_ It could be _destroyed_? She let out a breath to calm herself, and swallowed hard, trying very hard not to think of ways to eliminate Tom Riddle in 1957. It was quite a tempting notion.

But the memory of the Ministry falling and coming under the control of the Death Eaters… Well, Hermione would certainly want the Time Department safe, even if that did mean destroying the work. "If the Ministry fell under the control of the enemy, you would destroy research, wouldn't you?" Hermione asked. Truthfully, she and her team at home would probably set fire to their entire department if something like that ever happened again.

"Absolutely," Yelena said straight away. "It's one of our protocols."

"Ah," Hermione said bitterly. "Well then, that explains it. I don't blame you people at all, actually," she added fairly, now that she was processing thoughts more rationally.

Yelena nodded slowly as the implication sunk in. "Just because information is destroyed, doesn't mean it's forgotten," she said kindly. "We have ways of retrieving it."

 _Then hurry up!_ Hermione wanted to say, but instead, she gave a smile, and resigned herself to still being stuck in 1957 indefinitely. It was no way of living, being so unsure of the future, not knowing if anything was worth doing if the Ministry could notify her of a way home at any moment. "So I just stay here, then?" Hermione asked. "In the 50's? Can I change jobs, can I travel? Can I live in the Muggle world?" She'd started pacing to try and clear her head, feeling her anxiety rise. "All your research here is great, Madam Artlock, but in 1997, at the latest, all of it will most likely be destroyed, so I feel as though you're wasting your time-"

" _If_ that is what happened," Yelena said patiently, placing a hand on Hermione's arm to calm her, "Then we're most likely retrieving what was lost. It takes time, but it is possible. As to your other questions," she continued, slowly easing them closer to the door, "You're free to live and do whatever you wish, although studying is not one of your options just yet," she said. "I'm still working on that, by the way," she informed Hermione as she navigated them out of the winding corridors. "You're able to do things in the muggle world sooner than the wizarding world, I believe. Also," she said, placing her hand on a door handle, but not opening it, "Why did I get an information request about you from Chief Justice Roderick Smith?" she asked, eyebrow raised to the point it disappeared under her blonde fringe.

"Umm," Hermione trilled, having only a moment to decide which words to use to answer. "We met through Albus Dumbledore. He didn't quite take to me. I was a bit too progressive, I think," she said, lips twitching slightly. The change of subject had calmed her down, at least, for which she was grateful.

Yelena gave a smile that suggested to Hermione that she was familiar with the Chief Justice. "Keep out of trouble. If you need anything; money, forgeries – you know where to find me," she said as they got back to the public part of the Time Department.

"Thanks, Madam Artlock," Hermione smiled, unsure if she would ever take up the offer but grateful to know it was an option all the same.

"Oh, one more thing," Yelena said before they parted ways at her office. "if you can remember anything at all about how you got here, or would like to list some potential theories about it, do owl me. If we know how _you_ created a rift, _we_ could send you home and the future wont need to worry at all."

Hermione felt relief wash over her at the thought, especially if research had been destroyed during the war. She hadn't given a thought to how she arrived in 1957 in far too long – it often lead to an awful headache – but if it meant finding a way to go home, she'd suffer through it. As she bade Yelena farewell, she realised she had an awful lot of thinking to do once she was back in Hogsmeade. She was suddenly very eager to get out of London.

Luck was not on her side, however, as just as she and Minerva had emerged in the Atrium of the Ministry from the lifts, they almost collided with Milly and Rufus, who both recovered fairly quickly from the near miss. "What the bloody hell are you two doing here?" Milly asked, blinking quickly as though she doubted her vision.

"Running errands," Minerva lied quickly as the four of them moved away from the entrance to the lifts. "Dragged Jean along; someone else should have to suffer Ministry wait-times with me," she added, earning a knowing snort from Rufus.

"Tell me about it," Milly said with a roll of her eyes. "We knock off in five – drink?" she asked, looking at Minerva, Hermione, then Rufus expectantly.

"Paperwork," Rufus said apologetically, however Milly was having none of it. "Do your friggin paperwork at the pub, Christ," she muttered, shaking her head. "Really, you Aurors," she added, rolling her eyes once more. "Try being a law clerk, you'll have paperwork coming out of your arse, and your ears, and you'll have to work on them both simultaneously."

Hermione stifled a snort at Rufus' indignant swallow, and he smoothed over his robes pointedly. "Drinks it is," he sighed, with a crooked smile.

"Well count us In," Minerva said happily, amusement lighting up her eyes at Rufus and Milly's exchange. "We'll teach you how to multi-task, Rufus, don't you worry," Minerva added in a sickly sweet voice.

* * *

"He's fond of you, you know," Minerva murmured once Rufus and Milly had gone up to gather their effects. "You should give him a chance."

Hermione pulled a face at the implication. "Nope. Not happening," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, come on, why not?" Minerva teased, lighting up a cigarette once they had found a spot to wait by the fountain. "You might as well have some fun while you're here. And he's married to his job, anyway, so long-term is the last thing on his mind, if that's your concern."

That wasn't Hermione's concern, but she didn't want to go into her real ones. She was over thinking about the future for the day. "Why is he even interested?" she lamented, lighting up a cigarette of her own just to keep herself calm. "I'm a barmaid. I'm _trying_ to be as inconspicuous as possible."

Minerva laughed. "Any female who can beat him in a duel _generally_ catches his eye," she explained slowly.

"I haven't beaten him in a duel," Hermione frowned.

"Yeah, but you _could_ ," Minerva grinned. "Pretty sure that's a turn on for a man like Rufus."

"Okay, no, we are _not_ having this conversation," Hermione said, throwing her arms up into the air.

"What conversation aren't we having?" Milly asked in a sing-song voice from behind them.

Hermione froze as Minerva snickered. "Just trying to convince Jeanie that there's plenty of grindylows in the sea," Minerva said sweetly, earning a glare from Hermione. "Oh, I see Rufus has brought moral support," she added.

Hermione looked up to see Rufus hurrying to catch up to Milly, with Edgar and Alastor at his side.

"Well he was out-numbered," Milly said fairly.

As the men approached, Hermione saw Rufus visibly cringing at something Edgar and Alastor were dramatically recounting with vivid arm movements. They reminded her of Fred and George Weasley, with their theatrics and mischievous glints in their eyes. She hid a sad smile as she finished her cigarette, wondering just what exactly this evening would turn into with the new additions to the group.

* * *

 _4th November, 1957_

 _Old Bell Tavern, London_

Drinks had turned into dinner, and much to Hermione's private amusement, the chosen pub destination was one that she herself used to frequent in her own time. Not all that much had changed; even the menu still had most of the same dishes. It gave a shiver down her spine as she realised the timelessness of it all. She'd spent a similar lively evening at the tavern with Ron, Harry, Ginny, Luna, Charlie, Neville and Hannah a year ago, her and Harry having decided to show their pure-blood friends more of muggle London to broaden their horizons.

It was interesting for Hermione to see the differences in culture and society now that she had experienced more of the 1950's. The more information Hermione had come to learn and compare, it seemed Minerva's group of friends were somewhat of an anomaly – people who mixed the muggle and wizarding world seamlessly. Hermione had always tried her best to remain close to her muggle roots, but most muggleborns and half-bloods that she knew assimilated into the wizarding world completely.

Even here, Edgar Bones – the very epitome of a wealthy pureblood – was comfortable around cars and handling muggle money. Rufus had used a telephone box on the way to the pub to call his sister and invite her to join them, Alastor frequently spoke of muggle sporting games, and Milly was extremely familiar with both muggle and wizarding law and politics. Ingrid, of course, was living completely as a muggle, having turned her back on the wizarding world entirely since getting a job as a nurse in a muggle hospital. She even caught a taxi to the pub when she joined them.

It was baffling to Hermione. She could never imagine Ron, or Ginny, or even Luna, or any of her co-workers so at ease with blending the two worlds. She couldn't help but wonder if the first war had something to do with the societal change, perhaps as a way to keep muggles safe after Voldemort, or if it happened in the 70's during his reign of terror. _Maybe that's what I'll do if I can't get home_ , Hermione thought idly as her dinner companions gossiped about people from their Hogwarts days, _write an accurate historical manifesto of wizarding society changes._

She smiled to herself as she took a sip of cider, and picked at the plate of chips in front of her. Really, she had grown quite fond of Minerva's group of friends. She wasn't quite sure how they all fit together – they were all so different – but she vaguely remembered Minerva mentioning that they were all a part of the same study group at school, which their younger siblings were continuing. Considering Hermione's own school years were on the precipice of war, and hatred seemingly rooted in certain students, she actually liked to listen to them all reminiscing at what a 'normal' Hogwarts education was like. She felt she had missed out a little bit. And given Jean Gray's cover story was that she was educated privately, she had every excuse to ask for more details on education at a magical academy without looking too odd.

"And Sluggy's mellowing – a _muggleborn_ is in his little club now," Minerva said, as Hermione started paying attention again. "Mary Princeton, one of the little Puff's that follows Amelia around like she's the greatest thing in the world. Exceedingly good at potions. Do you know, I think he's changed a bit since seeing us all last month."

"Well that's about time," Ingrid said bitterly.

"It was probably you that did it, Ingrid," Alastor smirked. "A precious Slytherin, going Muggle? Surprised he didn't have a heart attack."

Ingrid laughed into her beer. "Still the best thing I ever did," she grinned.

"You look happier," Rufus commented, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Why thank you, big brother," Ingrid smiled. "See, Ed? He is nice sometimes."

"Well I've yet to see it at work," Edgar grumbled as he ate his dessert. "You're awful to me."

Even Hermione laughed at the pathetic display.

"Why don't you pick on Crouch for a change? He's an arse. He deserves it," Edgar continued, earning more snickers from the group.

Rufus sighed, and rubbed at his dark eyes. "Because I see _potential_ in you, Bonsey," Rufus groaned. "Crouch wont last two years out in the field, he'll transfer to the 'Mot because he likes those stupid hats more than preserving the peace. I'd rather not waste my time on him."

Hermione took another sip of her cider to hide her impressed smile. If they were talking about the Crouch she thought they were, then Rufus was certainly perceptive.

"Is this Barty Crouch?" Minerva asked. At Rufus's nod, Minerva pulled a face. "Twat."

"Don't like him?" Hermione asked.

"Nah," Minerva replied. "Complete bigot. You'll hate him," she winked.

"Dolly Umbridge currently has her sights set on him," Milly grinned wickedly. "I wish them a happy life," she said dryly, raising her class in toast. All around Hermione, she heard her companions choking on their drinks.

Minerva, however, unleashed a cackle that was almost terrifying. "Oh, those two deserve each other," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Someone, fill Jeanie in on Dolly, I need a moment," she said, overcome with a fit of giggles, and quickly scampered off to find the bathrooms.

Hermione had a hunch as to who they were referring to, and she took great delight in hearing about the general dislike everyone at the table had for one Dolores Umbridge. Ingrid had been in her year at Hogwarts, and had shared a room with the woman for seven years. Hermione could think of nearly nothing worse than that. "She's just awful, quite frankly," Ingrid said before the conversation got out of hand – nearly everyone had an encounter that they wanted to share. "A bully, racist, bigot, just…"

"Not pleasant," Alastor said. "Ran into her the other day – still wears that bow on her head."

"Anyone who called her out on her behaviour usually ended up hexed," Edgar said. "Me and Min caught her in the act once – we locked her in a broom cupboard for the night, because that's what she'd done to poor Winifred Higgins the week before."

"She never reported us, either," Minerva said cheerily, as she returned to the table. "She kept away from me after that, but I think it was the _ribbit_ stutter I gave her for 24 hours, rather than the broom cupboard."

"Impressive bit of human transfiguration for a fifth year," Ingrid commended, raising her glass of wine in acknowledgement.

Hermione was quite shocked that Minerva McGonagall – the woman who had no qualms taking over a hundred points from Gryffindor if the situation called for it – was capable of doing such a thing, and as a student! It certainly made her see her fifth year with Umbridge on the staff in a whole new light. Professor McGonagall seemed to have been one of the few members of staff who wasn't afraid of the Pink Toad, as Umbridge had been called by most. _The things you learn_ , Hermione mused to herself.

"It's getting fairly late, we should all probably get going," Milly said after a lull in conversation.

"It is a school night," Minerva agreed.

"And I'm on breakfast shift," Hermione muttered, fishing out her purse to find some muggle money for the bill. She also checked her watch and saw that it was nearing 10pm – she'd only get six hours sleep at this rate.

"We should do this again, though," Alastor said once the bill had been paid and everyone had put on their jackets and scarves and were headed to the door. "It was fun."

With general murmurs of agreement, followed by a multitude of swear words as they got out into the freezing evening air, the group slowly disbanded; Ingrid hailing a cab, Alastor and Edgar heading to the side alley to disapparate, and Minerva gave Hermione a hug and whispered, "I'm so glad you're still here. Also, you right getting back to Hogsmeade on your own? Going to stay with Mills."

"Yeah, I'll apparate," Hermione said. "Have fun with Milly," she added, waggling an eyebrow. Minerva gave a very self-satisfied smile, reminding Hermione that her friend's personality really was that of a cat sometimes.

"Oh, I will," Minerva smirked. "If she and Rufus ever stop discussing work," she added, looking over Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione turned and followed Minerva's gaze, seeing Rufus and Milly deep in conversation in very hushed voices.

"They're working on a case together," Minerva elaborated, before Hermione even had the chance to ask. "Hey, you two!" Minerva yelled at them, "Work's over, time to go home."

Milly gave a mock salute, while Rufus rolled his eyes, and the four of them quietly ducked into the side alley, away from the eyes of any muggle passers-by. Hermione pulled her jacket tighter around herself, and decided that if she was to be here any longer, she really must invest in a pair of gloves and some thicker socks and stockings.

"Jeanie," Minerva said, in a tone that suggested she wanted something. "Do you have any of that magic hangover cure you gave me last month?"

Hermione exhaled slowly and laughed softly. "Yes, I do," she said.

"Enough for two?" Milly asked hopefully. She at least gave an apologetic smile.

"Yes, I do," Hermione said again, "Will I be seeing you both for breakfast, then?"

"Yes," Minerva answered quickly. "Bye, both of you," she trilled, before twisting on the spot with Milly and the two women disapparated before Rufus and Hermione even had a chance to return the sentiment.

Hermione laughed softly, and turned to an amused Rufus. "To think, she's trusted with our nation's youth," she said, shaking her head. _Maybe Dumbeldore is mad_ , Hermione thought idly.

"It is a rather daunting thought," he grinned. "It was good seeing you, Jean. Sorry if the conversation was mainly about our Hogwarts escapades."

"Oh, no, I found it all amusing," Hermione assured him. "How you put up with Ed and Al, I really have no idea."

"I get paid well," he said, causing Hermione to laugh. That was usually her answer as to how she put up with drunk customers. "They're not too bad, really," he continued, "But put a pretty girl and alcohol in front of them and it's like wrangling children."

"I had friends just like them back home," Hermione said, ignoring the twinge of sadness she felt. "You need jokers in this world, life is awful without them."

"They do keep morale up, I'll give them that," Rufus said fairly. "I dread the day that light dies. It's inevitable in this job. You start second guessing everything, and everyone, you're always on the defensive…"

Hermione didn't want to think about the future of Alastor and Edgar. She knew it wasn't pleasant.

"I see that in you sometimes, actually," Rufus said, and Hermione was suddenly aware of how close they were standing together. How concerned his frown was. "Someone who's too careful. I'm just saying that if… If you ever need anything, I can-"

"That's very kind of you, Rufus," Hermione said quickly, "But I left all my problems in France. I'm fine here." She tried to smile, and really, really wished she could close the proximity between them. But it was wrong, she didn't want to toy with people when she knew full well that she could leave at any moment. It wasn't fair. "I should get going, I have a 5am start," she said, taking a step back and averting her gaze from his dark eyes. "It was wonderful seeing you, Rufus."

"You too, Jean," he said. He stepped back to allow her space to apparate, and with a final wave, Hermione disapparated with a soft _pop_.

She materialised at the back of the Three Broomsticks, and quietly slipped upstairs to her room, too tired and cold to be feeling so many emotions and having so many thoughts. Her mind was going too fast, jumping from various parts of her conversation with Yelena Artlock, to wishing she could remember her final day in the 21st century, to how much she was enjoying her time here in 1957 and how conflicted she felt over growing closer with anyone, let alone someone she knew to be dead.

She quickly changed into some warm pyjamas, took a potion to help her calm her mind, and took far too much pleasure in punching her pillow into a more fluffier state. She blamed Lord Voldemort for this. If he hadn't taken over the Ministry and caused the Time Department to destroy their backlog of work, she'd probably be home right now. Even in death, he still managed to annoy her to her very bones. "Evil bastard," Hermione grumbled just before sleep claimed her.

* * *

 _17th November, 1957_

 _Hogsmeade_

The cooler weather meant, surprisingly, even more business for The Three Broomsticks. Hermione honestly thought that people would prefer to remain in the warmth and comfort of their own homes during winter – at least, that's what she was known to do given her general hatred of the cold – but it seemed that the local pub, with their warm mulled wine and steaming hot French onion soup, was a second home to many.

The noise that all these customers made collectively, however, seemed to travel throughout the entirety of the bar and up to the hotel rooms, a fact which made Hermione throw dark glares around her room every few minutes or so. She was _trying_ to meditate, to try and remember absolutely _anything_ from her last day in 2001 in order to help Yelena and the rest of the Time Department, but the constant noise interruptions were making it very difficult.

She'd been trying this method any chance she had, often finding herself awake in the early hours of the morning and focusing on her breathing, and recalling the Indian food she'd eaten, and what it was like falling into her bed near midnight after working on removing a curse from a ring that had been confiscated from the Malfoy vaults years ago. It had been her pet project, one that had been part of the backlog from the post-war raids.

She wondered if she'd been working on that when whatever happened that sent her through time, but nothing about that ring had suggested anything relating to time magic. A flesh rotting curse, yes, as well as a numbing spell, but considering what the overall curse for the ring had been designed for, she didn't see why time magic would even have been included. It was a cursed ring designed to end an engagement in a rather grotesque way, not send the poor 'unfit to be a Malfoy' woman to the past.

Even so, she tried visualising her office, her lab, walking in at 6:30am, large takeaway coffee in hand, and the rest of her morning routine. But so far, it was all merely memories, rather than a new recollection. She had been working on several different cases before she left, and the Aurors had just finished a raid, so a multitude of new evidence and items had arrived for them to work through.

Any single one of them could have caused an explosion. But none of the families that were currently under investigation by the Dark Arts Department had any links to Time Magic, nor interacted with families that _were_ tied to the secretive area of study. With the exception of Augustus Rookwood, Hermione didn't know of any corrupt Unspeakables with ties to dark families.

Groaning loudly, she knew that this line of thinking was helping no one. Meditating was useless, she always got lost in her own thoughts. She didn't really want to go down the magic rout to retrieve her memories, but it seemed like it would be her only option.

Then there was the matter of who to trust to help her.

Putting that thought to one side, Hermione hummed as she sat up, deciding that she wanted to try Veritaserum before getting someone to use Legilimency on her. She had been procrastinating for months over asking Albus about the current laws pertaining to that particular potion, but she knew for a fact that the current recipe for 1957 used ingredients that were known to her to be unstable.

While part of her wanted to head straight to various apothecaries for ingredients to brew her own, she knew she hadn't even a third of the funds to buy all that she would need. Crushed Unicorn hair cost more than her monthly rent, and the recent addition to the recipe created in 1999 called for Dementor scales. She didn't even know if that was available in 1957, let alone the cost.

Instead, Hermione headed over to her desk to write a letter she really hoped she would never have to write.

 _Dear Madam Artlock,_

 _I have had an idea to retrieving my memories, however a rather expensive potion is required that I would need to brew, as the current recipe in 1957 is not as accurate as I would like. Would it be at all possible to schedule a meeting to discuss this option?_

 _Many thanks,_

 _Jean Gray_

Swallowing pride was difficult for Gryffindors, but, she reasoned with herself, this potion wasn't just for her. She was sure the Time Department could find use for it. Maybe.

Since she still had several hours until the start of her shift at work, Hermione decided to at least scope out the market and see what was available before sending Yelena the letter. If she couldn't get the scales, the whole endeavour would be useless. She hadn't a clue where one would even get access to such an ingredient, but figured Knockturn Alley was most likely a good place to start. She knew most of the apothecaries in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley and they rarely stocked dark ingredients. Trust Severus Snape to mix dark and light to create such a flawless potion, Hermione thought to herself as she transfigured her dress into something Bellatrix Lestrange would wear, and turned her blue cloak black and more ragged.

She quickly placed a glamour over her face and hair – the same one she'd used last time she'd paid a visit to Knockturn Alley – and put herself under a disillusionment charm to slide out of the building unnoticed, before apparating to London in a whirl of black robes and red hair.

* * *

 _1st July, 2001_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Kingsley found himself wanting to call it a day when he saw who was waiting for him outside his office – Harry Potter, who just so happened to be Hermione Granger's best friend. He didn't even know _how_ to begin to tell the Boy Who Lived what had happened to Hermione. Merlin, he was still processing the situation himself.

"Kingsley!" Harry called, breaking the Minister out of this thoughts. "Mate, _please_ tell me you know something, no one – not even the Healers – will tell me what's going on," Harry rushed, and Kingsley realised that the boy – _man,_ he corrected, looked as though he hadn't slept a wink. "Gawain's team has been told to bugger off, Rita Skeeter's owling me for a comment-"

Kingsley gave an involuntary shudder at the name of the reporter, and held up a hand to get Harry to calm down. "Come into my office, Harry," Kingsley said, opening the door to let Harry in first, "And take a seat, this is going to-"

"Kinglsey, just tell me," Harry said bluntly as Kingsley closed the door. "If my best friend's dead-"

"She's not dead," Kingsley assured him quickly, and Harry's eyes widened. "She's…"

Harry winced as he said, "Don't tell me it's some weird sci-fi magical DoM thing, like she's been sucked into another dimension, or turned herself into a cat again, or got possessed…."

Deciding to ponder the 'cat again' statement at a later point, Kingsley swallowed uncertainly. Harry wasn't too far off the mark, all things considered, with his first theory. "Not another dimension," he said slowly. "Another _time._ She's in 1957."

Harry put his hands over his face and looked at Kingsley through his fingers. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

* * *

OH HEY AN UPDATE. Hope you're all well, and that you enjoyed this chapter. Leave me a review and tell me what you think.

L x


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